Just A Kiss
by Under the Setting Sun
Summary: What if a kiss on the cheek, which was given in a devious manner, was all it took for the girl on fire to realize that the boy with the bread was not a threat, in spite of the coming games, but something more. And if he is something more how far will she go to keep him safe. Full summary and disclaimer inside.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I'm rewriting certain aspects of the books, while keeping the main plot line intact. I could have done this as a bunch of one-shots, but it wouldn't do the story I want to paint any justice. Except for one kiss I'm doing away with the Katniss and Gale relationship because going by the first book Katniss didn't see Gale like that. I'm going to flesh out Katniss and Peeta's relationship differently; meaning that I will have them fight for each more; as opposed to having them at odds, except for one section, like in the books and movies._

 _Summary: What if the Star Crossed Lovers of District 12 wasn't an act? What if the kiss on the cheek that Katniss gave Peeta after the opening ceremony, which she meant in an almost devious manner, awoken something within her that Katniss thought she had sworn off: love. This my imperfect retelling of The Hunger Games trilogy, except Katniss stays true to Peeta. Since this is an alternate universe I will mix things up a bit; that being said it is only an alternate universe in certain spots, I will still quote the book for important parts. Also I will use both the movies and the books in tandem, but I will be using the books more for source material. Also I'm writing this story in the context that the readers have already read the original trilogy, so I won't be going into full detail whenever a new character, or aspect is brought into the story._

Katniss got up just like any other day to go hunting with Gale. Katniss sees that Prim is in with their mother, so she figures Prim had a nightmare. She gets dressed to head out; as she is putting on her coat Katniss hears a hissing sound. Katniss looks up to see that mangy cream colored cat Buttercup.

"Don't think I won't try to drown you again." Katniss says, as she adjusts her collar.

Katniss isn't sure why Prim wanted to keep the scruffy creature seeing as how it was another mouth to feed, but he has his uses: importantly it's a mouser. Buttercup kills all the vermin in the house so it keeps himself pretty well fed. On the occasion I give entrails from animals that I killed and I'm more tolerable to the animal; closes thing to a loving relationship between the two of us. On top of that Prim shed until tears Katniss relented in getting rid of the cat. Katniss puts her archer's gloves in her pocket, rounded up the supplies to take on the hunt, and then left the house.

As Katniss made her way to the meadow she thought about the events of the day; mainly the reaping at two o'clock. Katniss woke up at eight to go hunting with Gale. Katniss reached the meadow and pushes on; wanting to put in a few hours in hunting before the reaping. As Katniss was approaching the fence that separated District twelve from the rest of the world her mind began to wander. She thought of today's reaping, her dead father, and her friendship with Gale, but most importantly the boy with the bread.

"And I never did thank him." Katniss said, a bit upset with herself.

Katniss thought that if she ever got the chance that she would thank the boy personally for the bread. Little did she know that she would be able to do that sooner rather than later. Katniss pulled on her archer's gloves, clearing her mind of all thoughts that could distract her from the coming hunt, and went to the hollowed out tree where she stored her bow and quiver. Katniss gave her equipment a once over making sure everything was in order. When she was satisfied Katniss made her way deeper into the woods; she didn't wait up for Gale. He was either checking his equipment over, or already out hunting. Katniss was walking at a brisk pace picking the occasional berries, and setting snares when she heard a twig snap. Katniss stopped what she was doing at that moment scanned the area using her senses.

When she was satisfied that it wasn't wild beast coming to interrupt her mornings haul Katniss caught a glimpse of a six point buck off in the distance, and he was a big one. There have been many times when Katniss had to break cover and run for the nearest tree because of a wild dog, or a mountain lion coming to make a meal out of her. She stalked into position and prepped to take a shot, but before she took it Katniss reach down and picked up a pile of leaves. The wind was blowing towards the deer, so Katniss crept to a position so she would be out of the deer's scent range; which was a bust because another twig snapped and frightened the deer off.

"Hey Catnip." Gale said.

"Seriously. First deer in months and you scare it off." Katniss said irritation evident in her voice.

"True, but selling deer on reaping day might not be a good idea." Gale said.

"Maybe." Katniss said.

Katniss met Gale when she was out hunting four years ago, and they have been partners ever since. It was a rough start, but they got over their differences and worked it out. It's easier to hunt with a partner, as opposed to hunting by yourself. Two people can haul in more loads, two can split up and cover more ground. Gale had an idea: he picked up a rock and threw it in the general area where the deer was. When the rock landed it had kicked up a flock of pheasants. Katniss led one of the birds and took the shot. The partners walked over and claim the prize, and then spread out to check their traps. They both snagged a few squirrels and one rabbit a piece. The sun was getting high in the sky, so they stopped and shot the breeze for a bit. While they were talking Katniss pulled out the cheese from Prim's goat, and Gale had a loaf of bread from the baker's that he traded for a squirrel, and some berries.

"We could do it you know." Gale said suddenly.

He cut a slice off the loaf and spread cheese on, then taking a bite.

"Do what?" Katniss asked with a questioning glance; while following suit with bread and cheese.

"Head into the woods and live there. Out of the Capitol's reach." Gale said.

"That's a wonderful idea, but one problem: what are we going to do with all these kids?" Katniss asked.

Gale had two younger brothers, and sister; while Katniss had her sister Prim; of course their mothers too. Katniss knew that it wouldn't be an easy venture.

"They could come too. Plus our mothers." Gale said.

"It sounds wonderful, but it will never work; can you see Prim living in the woods?" Katniss asked.

"Fair enough." Gale said.

There was a lull in the conversation.

"I'm never having kids." Katniss said.

"I might. If I didn't live here." Gale said.

"But you do." Katniss said.

"Forget it." Gale snapped.

Katniss stared at Gale for a second after his outburst, and then looked up into the sky. From the position of the sun it was between eleven and twelve o'clock, so the partners packed up their gear and made one more pass by their snares before heading back. The snares were empty, so they headed back in. When they entered the district they made their way to The Hob and made their usual trade for food and supplies. Then they went to the baker and made another trade. As they were heading home they stopped the mayor's house. Madge answered the door to buy from them; Madge made an innocent remark, but it set Gale off.

"That's a pretty dress." Gale says to Madge.

She's skeptical at first, but takes it in stride.

"Well if I have to go to the Capitol, the least I can do is to look pretty." Madge said.

"With your luck you won't be going to the Capitol." Gale said.

Katniss made the sale with Madge, and then pushed Gale on before her "friends" start fighting.

"What was that all about?" Katniss asked; the irritation in her voice when they were fifty yards from Madge's house.

"She's worried about looking pretty when she goes to the Capital. She maybe has five entries in the reaping. When I was twelve I had six." Gale said hastily.

"I understand your point, but taking it out on Madge is pointless. It's not her fault." Katniss said.

"It's nobody's fault, but the deck is stacked against the poor." Gale said.

"Gale, keep your voice down." Katniss said admonishing him.

As usual Gale has a point. If you're of noble birth and can afford food you only have to worry about having your name in bowl the standard amount, but if you poor you can sign up for tessera. Tessera is a meager year's worth of grain and oil, in exchange for taking the tessera your name is entered more times into the reaping.

"How many times has your name been entered into the reaping?" Katniss asked.

"Forty-two; you?" Gale asked.

"Twenty." Katniss said. "It seems that the odds aren't in our favor."

"Tell me about it." Gale said.

Gale and Katniss split ways at her house, and got ready for the reaping. As Gale was walking away Katniss stared at him for a time. In her mind Katniss was going over the fact that not only did she not want kids, but she didn't want to get married either; which put kink in her relationship with Gale. She could tell by some of the looks that Gale gave her that he want something more, but she didn't want it. There was never anything romantic between them when they first met. To make things worse a strong man like Gale would have no problem finding a wife. Working the mines coupled with his hunting skills he could provide nicely for his family. She hears the whispering from the girls about Gale in the halls at school, and it makes Katniss jealous.

But if she was being honest with herself it wasn't for the reason that most people think. The jealousy wasn't motivated by emotions, but because hunting partners are hard to come by. When Katniss entered her home Prim, and her mother were ready for the reaping. Katniss gave Prim a once over, which was stepping on her mother's toes, but Katniss couldn't care less. Doing it to spite her for leaving Katniss and Prim alone when they needed her most. The only thing out of place was that her blouse was untucked in the back.

"You might want to tuck in your tail there, little duck." Katniss said lovingly to her sister.

"Quack." Prim said as she tucked in her tail.

"Quack to you too." Katniss said with a smile.

"I have laid some clothes out for the reaping." Her mother said.

"Thank you." Katniss said.

The family sat down to eat a quick meal, and then Katniss took a bath to get cleaned up from the mornings hunt. When Katniss saw the clothes that her mother laid out, a plain dress, she was a little put off.

{Who am I kidding, I live in the Seam.} Katniss thought.

Katniss put on the dress that her mother laid out for her. Her mother came into her room and braided Katniss hair. At one o'clock the family headed out to the square in preparation for the reaping. The Reaping: an event where they cram every child in the district between the ages of twelve to eighteen, and pick one male and one female to serve as tributes in the yearly Hunger Games.

{So they herd all the children into the square and parade the unlucky victims around like side-show freaks. Wonderful.} Katniss thought.

Katniss and Prim checked in, then headed to their assigned sections to wait for the event to begin. There were three chairs on the stage: One for the mayor, one for the _eccentric_ Effie Trinket, and the last one for the last living victor of the district: Haymitch Abernathy. Effie and the mayor were present, but Haymitch seat was empty.

{Looks like Haymitch is M.I.A. again.} Katniss thought.

At two o'clock the mayor approached the podium; it was at the point Haymitch staggered up to take his chair. The crowd gives a token applause for its victor. Haymitch is unsure of what to do so he attempts to give Effie a hug, which she barely fends off.

{Lord help us.} Katniss thought resting her face in her hand.

Haymitch is acting like a fool on live television, and the people in the Capitol will most definitely air the entire event just to show the whole of Panem that the victor of District Twelve is still a drunken fool. The mayor continued with the event as attempt to keep Haymitch in line, which will fail miserable. The mayor read the Treaty of Treason in memory of the dark days, and then he handed the stage over to Effie to continue the event. I look for Gale in the crowd and we have a silent conversation, almost my telling him that there are still thousands of names in bowl; enough to help cover the forty-two times for his name being entered into the bowl. Katniss turns her attention back to the stage when she hears.

"Ladies first. And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor." Effie said.

{The moment of truth.} Katniss thought.

Katniss watches Effie walk over to the bowl and reach in. Effie waves her hand around in the air looking for which slip of paper to pick.

{I don't have all day Effie.} Katniss thought.

The suspense is killing her until Effie reaches out and grabs the paper. Katniss is watching, with a feeling of dread coming over her, wondering whose name will be called. Katniss looked towards Prim and sees that she is staring at the stage awaiting the announcement of the tribute. Katniss was lost in her own world until she heard Effie speak up. What she heard was not what she was expecting.

"Primrose Everdeen." Effie said.

 **T.B.C.**

 _A/N: I want to reiterate that my tale is just a retelling, not a complete remake of the story. I'm not going to change the main plot line of the three books. I will change how Katniss and Peeta treat each other because reading the books and speaking with other fans their relationship could have played out differently._


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: The characters and the story of The Hunger Games are property of Suzanne Collins and Scholastic publishing company._

Now I know why I had that feeling of dread. I think.

It feels like the wind has been knocked out of me; like that time I fell asleep in the tree while hunting, and then fell out and landed on my back. That was the same sensation that I'm experiencing right now. I also feel the sensation of drowning because Prim has been reaped.

She had one entry! No Tessera; just one entry! Prim was supposed to be safe! I thought angrily.

I catch sight of Prim as begins to step forward. I never felt so powerless in my life like I do right now.

I won't let this happen! I think.

I came too when I heard the groan of the crowd whenever a young child has been reaped. I see Prim tuck in the tail of her blouse in and begin walking to the stage.

"Prim!" I let out a strangle cry.

The crowd parts without resisting, allowing me to get to Prim before the Peacekeepers could escort her to the stage; I run for all my worth

I'm not going to make it! I think.

"Prim!" I shout again.

Prim stops short to look in the direction of my voice.

Good girl. I think.

Prim sees me come running, and she goes to give me a hug; but what happens takes her by surprise. I stand in front of her with my left arm held low and back as to protect my sister from the world in front of us.

"I volunteer!" I struggle to get out.

"No!" Prim exclaims trying to move my arm.

I can feel Prim continue to struggle as I speak again, taking the stand I feared would come someday.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I exclaim in a robust, and clear voice.

The people on the stage are looking at me in confusion, and at the scene in front of them; me volunteering for my sister, and Prim still trying to take her place.

Does she have a death wish? I think. I don't have a choice, I won't let Prim die in some game.

Volunteers are an extinct breed, and I just joined their ranks. In the districts closer to the Capitol being a volunteer is an honor, but in the outlying districts, like 12, it's synonymous with the word corpse.

They might as well shout dead girl walking. I think.

"Walk away Prim." I say sternly.

I know it's not her fault. Prim doesn't want to lose me as much as I don't want to lose her, but given the skill set I have acquired from my father, and from Gale, I'm the more logical choice. Prim continues to struggle with me, but her attempts become weaker and I can feel her tears on my dress.

I will not cry! I think.

If the tributes, and the sponsors see me cry I will be seen as a weakling to the tributes, a.k.a. an easy target; and not one worth sponsoring or betting on by the sponsors.

I will give no one the satisfaction. I think to myself.

"Walk away Prim." I say again.

Next thing I feel is Prim being forcefully pulled from my body and then I hear a familiar voice.

"Up you go Catnip." Gale says to me.

"Katniss!" Prim screams; the scream fades away as both Prim and Gale retreat back into the crowd.

It takes every ounce of energy, ever fiber in my body not to cry as Prim's wails fade away and Gale disappears into the crowd. As I regain my composure I walk towards the stage; before I get two feet I'm flanked on all sides by Peacekeepers. Some of them I know, others that I haven't seen before. But I can read the grim look on their expressions that I just signed my death warrant, and that there is no escaping it. I did the radical thing: volunteered for my sister in spite of my own death.

I've cheated death before. Let's see if I can do it again. I think.

As we approach the stage I stop one last time to look into the crowd. I find my mother and sister right away. My mother is holding Prim in her arms, and whispering something in her ear as she bounces Prim up and down on her hip. I spot Gale back in his spot in the crowd. As I turn back to the climb the stairs up to the stage I see Effie is waiting to escort me back to the microphone. I know where this is about to go, and I have to fight back tears as she begins to speak.

"A first! A volunteer, what a special ordeal!" Effie exclaims a little too excitedly for my taste after we return to the microphone.

You were about to send my sister to the slaughterhouse and you say my intervention is a special ordeal. I thought with disgust etched across my features.

Effie is right though, had that been any other twelve year old girl beside Prim, I would have breathed a sigh of relief counted ourselves lucky for another year.

"Bravo, that's the spirit of the Games." Effie says. "What's your name?"

Is she happy that I volunteered? I asked, as if she is happy to be in a district that has little action going on.

"Katniss Everdeen." I say trying not to choke on my words.

I pick a spot on the horizon not wanting to look at my family, for fear of having an emotional breakdown.

"I'm betting my buttons that was your sister. Not wanting her to steal the glory." Effie says

I drown the rest of it because she's about to ask for an applause.

Not wanting her to steal all the glory? I think. Prim never would have stood a chance.

When nobody claps I realize what's coming next. To the everlasting credit of District 12 nobody claps. Not even the ones holding betting slips, the ones usually beyond caring. Possibly because they know me from the Hob, or they knew my father, or they encountered Prim, who no one can help loving. So instead of acknowledging the applause, I stand there unmoving as the take their boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence. Which says we do not agree. We do not condone; this is all wrong. What happens next catches me by surprise.

Plot twist. I think.

It's unexpected because I don't see District 12 as a place that cares for me. A shift in the crowd has happened, and I missed it. My stance to defend Prim from the reaping has cast me in a new light; I now have become someone precious to them. At first one, then another, then almost everybody in the crowd holds their three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips, and the holds it out to me. It's an old, rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally used at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.

CRAP! I think.

I am now in danger of crying because of the gesture, but Haymitch decided to step in and share a few words.

Whew! I thought.

"Look at her. Look at this one." Haymitch hollers as he throws an arm around my shoulder.

For a being a drunken wreck he sure is a strong fellow. Haymitch intervention bought me sometime to regain my composure, although I about lost the meal in my stomach after smelling the fumes that came rolling off of Haymitch because of the liquor that he had been drinking. Next thing that happened made me want to curl up into a little ball and die because Haymitch was a little too excited and was too close to the edge of the stage. Next thing the crowd saw, and all of Panem for that matter, was Haymitch taking a nose dive off the front of the stage, I barely slipped out of his embrace. I think I heard Haymitch possibly tell the Capitol off in that drunken rant too. Haymitch didn't move at first.

Must have been unconscious before, or after he hit the ground. I think.

Haymitch was knocked unconscious when he hit the ground so some of the staff had to come, roll him onto a stretcher, and carry him away. By the time Haymitch was gone I was in control of my emotions, and back to my usual can we move this along state of mind.

If these antics are over I want to get on with this. I think.

"My, my." Effie says.

That's the understatement of the century Effie. I think with a raised eyebrow.

"What an exciting day, but now it time for the male tribute." Effie said.

But wait! There's more! I think.

Effie walks over to the boy's bowl and grabs a slip of paper without hesitation, and the returns to the microphone. Effie is back to the microphone and reading the name before I can pray for Gale's safety.

"Peeta Mellark." Effie says.

Peeta Mellark! I think.

Oh no, I think. Not him. I recognize that name, although I never have spoken directly to its owner. Peeta Mellark. It seems the odds are definitely not in my favor today. I see the boy make his way to the stage.

"Any volunteers?" Effie asks.

Peeta has two brothers: one that is too old, and the other wouldn't step in for him, I've seen them both at their parent's bakery. No volunteers, so Peeta makes the rest of the trip flanked by Peacekeepers. From the look on Peeta's face he is trying to remain emotionless, but the blue eyes showed alarm. The same alarm that I've seen in prey. When Peeta climbs the stage to take his place, the mayor comes up to the podium and reads the Treaty of Treason, but I drown him out.

Why him? I think.

I try to convince myself that it doesn't matter. Peeta Mellark and I aren't friends. We aren't neighbors. We don't speak. The only interaction happened years ago; he has probably forgotten it. I know I haven't and probably never will. It was during the worst time of my life. It was three months after my father had been killed in a mining accident, and it was in the middle of bitterest January anybody could remember. The numbness of the loss had passed, but the pain of the loss would rack my body with sobs, doubling me over. Where are you? I cry out in my mind. Where have you gone? Of course nobody would answer. We were given a month's supply of money for grieving, and it was expect that my mother would get a job. But she didn't. She did nothing. She either sat in a chair or huddle up under a blanket, staring off in the distance. She never moved no matter how much Prim had pleaded with her.

I was 11 years old when I took over the head of the family, and Prim was only 7 years old, I had no choice. I lost not only my father, but my mother seem to have descended into a deep world of sadness; she too was gone. So I would go down to the market and buy our food, and cook it as best as I could. I took care of both of Prim and I trying to make us look as presentable as I could because if they found out that our mother was incapable of caring for they would take us, and put the two of us in a community home. The home would crush Prim. So I keep our predicament a secret. But eventually the money ran out and we slowly started to starve to death.

I knew I was kidding myself, but I kept telling myself that if I could hold until May, May 8th, I would turn 12 and I could sign up for the Tessera and we could feed ourselves. There was still several weeks to go, and we could very well be dead by then. Starvation isn't uncommon in District 12, who hasn't seen the victims? The old who cannot work, the young in a family with too many mouths to feed, the homeless walking the streets looking for something to eat, and those injured in the mines. Then one day you see the bodies of the dead propped up against the wall, or lying on the ground. You hear the wailing of the dead relatives as the Peacekeepers come to retrieve the body. The cause death is usually the flu, pneumonia, or exposure, but starvation was never the official cause of death. This fools no one though.

On the afternoon I encountered Peeta the rain was coming down in relentless icy sheets. I was try to sell some of Prim's old baby clothes, but none of the storeowners would buy them. I saw the Hob and I have been in with my father, but I haven't been in since his death. I'm too afraid to go in by myself at such a young age. The clothes I had been wearing had be soak from the rain, and I was chilled to the bone. I drop the clothes in a puddle, and I didn't pick them up for fear I wouldn't be able to stand up again. I couldn't go home empty handed to a lifeless mother, and my sister with hollow cheeks and cracked lips. After a time I found myself walking a muddy road behind the shops. Seeing as how the shopkeepers live above their businesses I'm, technically, in their backyards. Stealing of any kind is illegal in District 12, punishable by death; but the trash bins are fair game. As I check the bins I see that they have all been cleared out.

I smell bread being cooked in the bakery, and the aroma of the food is making me dizzy; the ovens are I the back of the shop. I went to check the bins, but they were empty. I hear the door open and the baker's wife starts yelling at me to move on, that she would call the Peacekeepers, and how she was sick of the kids from the Seam digging through her trash bins. I replaced the lid on the bin and started to back away, but I see a boy standing behind her. I recognize him, but I don't know his name. We've seen each other on the streets, but he usually sticks with the town kids, so how would I know? He must have known something was wrong with me: either by the frame of body, how frail and thin it was, or the fact that I was digging though the trash cans, but he continues to watch me as I go around the corner by the pig pen, and I lean up against an old apple tree. The realization of the matter hits: I have nothing to take home to my family and my knees buckle as I slid down the side of the tree to its roots.

It was too much. I was sick, weak, and tired, oh so tired. Let them call the Peacekeepers to take us to the community home. I thought. Better yet just let me die here in the rain. Next thing I hear there is a commotion coming from the bakery; the woman is screaming and there is a sound of a blow, it barely registers in my conscious. Next thing I hear are feet sloshing through the mud and I thought, it's her and she's come to drove me away, but it wasn't her. It was the boy. And he was carrying two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire because of scorch marks on crust that have turned them black. His mother was yelling about feeding the bread to the pigs because nobody would buy the bread. The boy started to rip off pieces of the burned section and threw it into the pen. The bell on the front door rang and the mother went back inside to attend to the customer. The boy never looked my way, but I watched him. Because of the bread. Because of the red weal on his cheekbone. What did she hit him with? Our parents would never hit us. The boy took one look back to make sure the coast was clear, and then threw a loaf a bread in my direction. The other was not too far behind.

The boy turned and walked back into the bakery without a backwards glance, shutting the door behind him. I was in shock at first; hallucinating even. I looked at the bread in front of wondering if it was for me. He must have meant for it to be mine. Without hesitation, not wanting anybody to see what the boy did, I shove the bread up under my shirt and walked home. The bread was still hot, so it burned my skin. By the time I reached home it had cooled, but it was still warm. I put the bread on the table. Prim reached to take a piece, but I told her to wait. I force our mother to join us, I scrapped the black spots off and we eat a loaf of bread slice by slice with warm tea, and it was a hearty loaf; filled with raisins and nuts. I put my clothes to dry by the fire and then I went to bed, slipping into a dreamless sleep. It never occurred to that the boy burnt the bread on purpose. Burnt the bread so that I would have food to eat and share with Prim and mom. It makes no sense, we aren't friends. We don't even know each other's names. He burnt the bread at the cost of being beaten. His kindness was enormous, and unexplainable.

We ate a few more slices before going to school the next day, and it was as if spring had come over night: warm sweet air and fluffy clouds. I passed him in the hall and he was with his friend; he didn't acknowledge, but I saw the black eye that he had. I was a little taken back at the extent of the damage he had suffered to feed my family and me, but when I was collecting Prim at the end of the day, we made eye contact for a few seconds before he looked away. Embarrassed I looked down and saw it. The first dandelion of the year. Then a bell went off in my head. I remember all the time I spent with my father in the woods and I knew how we were going to survive.

To this day I can never shake the connection between Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded that I wasn't doomed. And yet again I found Peeta with eyes trained on me, and then he turned away when I made eye contact. I feel like I owe him something, and I hate owing people something. I'd feel if I had thanked him I wouldn't be so conflicted, but the opportunity never presented itself. Now it seems like a moot point seeing as how we're about to be thrown into an arena and fight to the death. Doesn't seem fair if I say thank you while I'm trying to slit his throat.

The mayor finished the Treaty of Treason and motions for us to shake hands. Peeta's hands are as warm as those loaves. He gives my hand what seems to be a reassuring squeeze, or a nervous spasm. We turn back as the anthem of Panem is playing.

Oh well. I think. There will be twenty-four of us. Odds are I won't kill him before somebody else does.

Of course the odds haven't been in favor as of late.

A/N: There was too much important information to just wing it; especially when there is more wiggle room when they get to the Capitol and have free time to themselves.


	3. Chapter 3

After the anthem ends we're taken into custody. They don't put cuffs on us, but the Peacekeepers march us in the front door of the Justice Building. I guess other tributes have tried to escape in the past. Upon entering the building I'm taken to a room and left there to say good-bye to my family and friends; I have one hour to say all my good-byes. The room is the richest I've ever been in: a chair and couch line with velvet; I know of the material because my mother had a dress that had a collar that was made of velvet. I sit on the couch I run my hand over the material attempting to calm myself before saying my good-bye because there will be more cameras at the train station.

 _There will be no puffy eyes, or a red nose to be seen on my face when I leave this place._ I think.

The first people who come to visit me are my mother and Prim. I reach my arms out to Prim and she crawls into my lap, her arms wrap around my neck, and rests her head on my shoulder like she did when she was a toddler. Our mother sits on the couch next to me and wrap her arms around both of us. We sit in silence for a time; and then I tell them the things they must do now that I won't be there anymore. Prim must not take any tesserae. They can get by selling cheese and milk from Prim's goat, and by using mother's apothecary business that she runs for the people in the Seam. What they don't have they can enlist Gale's help to procure. He can trade meat, and pick the needed herbs. I tell them to be very specific because Gale isn't as familiar with all the plants as I am.

Although Gale and I made a pact about trading between our families, he probably won't ask for compensation; I tell them to make a habit of thanking him by trading milk or medicine anyways. I don't bother to suggest Prim picking up hunting because I tried to teacher her once and it ended in disaster. She got teary eyed, and suggested that if we got the creature back fast enough we could save it.

 _That's the main reason why I hunted with Gale._ I think.

Prim does well with her goat, so I tell her to concentrate on that. After I finish instructing them on trading, acquiring fuel, and staying in school I turn to my mother and grip her arm and apply a pressure to let her I mean business.

"Listen to me. Are you listening to me?" I ask. "You can't leave again. You have to fight to stay coherent."

My mother's eyes find the floor because she knows what's coming next.

"I know. I won't. I couldn't-"

"Well you have to help it this time. I won't be there. You two won't have me around to help keep your heads above water. No matter what happens; no matter what you see on that screen you have to promise that you will fight through it." I say, my voice rising to a shout. My voice is laced with all the fear and anger that I have harbored since her abandonment.

I know I'm being harsh to her, but the bitterness I felt towards my mother for leaving when I needed her most has taken up residence in my heart and built a wall around itself to protect me from her. Our relationship never recovered, and was never the same since.

"I was ill. I could have treated myself if I had the medicine I have now." My mother said with anger in her voice as she forcefully pulled her arm from my embrace.

"Then take it. And take care of her." I say.

"Don't worry about me Katniss." Prim says as she clutches my face in both of her hands. "But you have to take care to. You are brave and fast; you could possibly win."

 _That's a big possibly._ I think.

Prim may be trying encourage me, but she must know that I'm out of my league here. There are other girls who have been training for this event their whole life, and come from wealthier districts that have the money to help them to succeed. There are going to be boys that are two to three times big than me. These are the same people that are trained to wield weapons that I can only dream of. I'm cannon fodder to them; the type of person to be weeded out before the real fun begins.

"Maybe." I say.

I can hardly be tough on my mother if I already given up. But it isn't in my nature to lay down and die without a fight; even the face of insurmountable odds.

"Then we'll be as rich as Haymitch." I say trying to lighten the mood.

"I don't want to be rich. I just want you come home, alive. You will try won't you? Really try?" Prim asks.

 _Touché kid. Leave it to Prim to ignore materialism and get to the heart of the issue._ I think.

"I will really try, I swear." I say, knowing that I now have to try. If not for my sake, then for Prim.

At this moment a Peacekeeper had come, signaling that our time was up. I give my mother and Prim both a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"I love you both, very much." I say.

The Peacekeeper takes my mother and Prim from the room and shuts the door behind them. I fight back tears and try to regain my composure. Next visitor is a bit of a surprise: the baker, Peeta Mellark's father. I'm a bit shocked to see him here, given that I'm going to try to kill his son in a couple of days, but we aren't strangers; I've encountered him at the Hob. Me and Prim trade cheese for bread, we give him an extra serving of cheese; and he gives us an extra amount of bread in return. We only trade when that _witch_ of a wife isn't around. I get the feeling he wouldn't have hit Peeta over the burnt bread like his wife did. The baker sits awkwardly for a time, I see the burn scars from years of working the ovens. After a time he pulls a white paper package from his coat and hands it's to me. I open the package and see that it was holding about dozen cookies; a luxury we could never afford.

"Thank you." I say.

The baker isn't very talkative on most accounts, and today is no different.

"I had some of that bread this morning you traded for Gale's squirrel." I say. He nods remembering the trade. "Not your best trade. I say.

He shrugs not really caring about the trade now. We sit in silence until the Peacekeeper comes calling. Before he leaves he says.

"I will keep an eye on the girl. Make sure she is eating."

I feel some of the weight in my chest lighten. Most people will deal with me, while Prim they genuinely care for. I nod my thanks, and then he is gone. My next guess is unexpected, but a nice surprise: it was Madge. She was neither weepy nor evasive; to contrary, I sense an air of urgency about her.

"They will let you wear one thing from you district in the arena. My pin will you wear it?" Madge say.

She holds out her circular gold pin that was on her dress earlier. A gift from my district is the last thing on my mind.

"Here let me put it on your dress." Madge says.

She attaches the pin to my dress without waiting for a reply. I look closer at the pin, and see that it's a bird in flight.

"Promise that you will wear it. Promise that you will wear it." Madge says

"Yes, I will." I say.

Cookies, a pin; all these gifts I'm acquiring. I get one more. Madge kisses me on the cheek, and then leaves as quickly as she came. I think Madge was my friend all along. Then the last visitor is Gale. He opens his arms, and although I feel nothing for the man, I seek refuge in his arms. We share our first real, and last hug; then Gale gets down to business.

"Getting a knife should be easy enough, but you will need to get your hands on a bow." He says.

"They may not have a bow." I say, remembering the year they had spiked maces and the tributes had bludgeon each other to death, and then I shudder at the memory.

"Then make one. A weak bow is better than no bow, and there is always wood after that one year." Gale said.

I've tried to replicate my father's design to no avail. Even my father had scrap his work at times. Gale's right though; there is always wood after that one year when we watch half the tributes freeze to death. Not much to see when they're huddled up in ball trying to stay warm. To the citizens of the Capitol it's kind of anticlimactic way to die by freezing to death as oppose to the usual, and bloody deaths they are used to.

"There's usually some." I reply.

It's no different than hunting." Gale says.

 _Think again._ I think.

"It's completely different. Their armed. They can think." I say.

"So do you. You have more practice. Real practice." Gale says. "You know how to kill."

"Not people." I say.

"How can it be any different?" Gale asks.

The sad thing is that if I forget that they are people, whether hypothetically or morally, it will be no different.

At this point the Peacekeeper has come to say that times up. Gale asks for more time, but the Peacekeeper takes him away anyways and I start to panic.

"Don't let them starve!" I cry out clinging to his hand.

"I won't! You know I won't! Katniss remember I-"

They tear us apart and shut the door behind them. I don't know what Gale wanted me to remember. The hour for saying good-byes has come and went, so we exit our rooms and exit the back. The journey to the train station is a short ride by car.

 _This is new._ I think.

I never ridden in a car before, I've rarely ridden in wagons. In the Seam we travel by foot. I was right not to cry, there are more cameras at the station trained on us. I've had many years of practice to suppress my emotions. I'm almost grateful, _or is it gratified._ I think, that my expression is one of boredom. Peeta on the other hand has been crying and has no interest in trying to cover it up. And then I wonder if that is his plan: to seem weak, and frightened; to lull the other tributes into a false sense of security, and then come out fighting. That worked a few years ago for Johanna Mason from District 7. She played the sniveling, fool until there were a handful of contestants left; and then she turned on them. Johanna was pretty vicious with an axe. She was smart to play it that way.

 _Clever girl._ I think.

If that's Peeta's plan it's going to take a lot of weeping to convince the other tributes to overlook him: all those years having enough to eat, and having strong broad-shoulders from hauling those bread trays around. They're definitely going to be hard pressed to overlook Peeta. I look at Peeta's body with a critical eye, letting my hunter's vision giving Peeta a once over wondering what I could do to disable or kill him if need be, before turning back to the cameras and letting them get one last good look at my face. Then we step on to the train with the doors closing behind us, cutting the cameras off from taking more pictures and video footage; after the doors shut the train speeds away. Officially travel between the districts is illegal unless it is sanctioned business; for our district it would be the transportation of coal; albeit this isn't a normal train.

It's one of the Capitol's high speed trains. I remember in school that the Capitol is located in a region of the country that used to be known as the Rocky Mountains. District 12 is located in a region at known as the Appalachia; at 250 mph our journey will take less than a day. I remember from school that hundreds of years ago they used to mine for coal in this region, that's why we have to dig so deep just to mine the material. I step through the door and take in the setting of the car; it's _different_.

 _If their dining hall is this fancy; I have to see the citizens of the Capitol._ I think.

I step into the first car of the train and see that it's dining hall of sorts. The car had the air of fanciness about it, more opulent than the room at the Justice Building I was in. I can see fabrics and colors I know by name, and there are materials and colors that I not even going to bother attempting to guess what they are called; not bothering to slaughter their names. But before we eat Effie shows us to our quarters. We each have a room to ourselves. It has a bedroom, a dressing area and a private bathroom that has both hot and cold water. Hot water was a luxury we didn't have at home unless we boiled it. Effie tells me to do whatever I want, wear whatever I want, but just to be ready for dinner in an hour. I strip of my mother's blue dress, and take a hot shower. A shower is an interesting concept: it's like the summer rains, only warmer.

I dress in a green shirt and dark colored pants. I walk back over to my mother's dress and grab Madge's pin off of it. I finally get a good look at the pin. It's a bird inside a circle connected at its wing tips. I finally realize what the bird is.

 _It's a Mockingjay._ I think.

The Mockingjay was the offspring of the Capitols muttation, or mutt for short, Jabberjay and a Mockingbird. Jabberjays were created to spy on the districts, they could repeat word for words what they heard and repeat it with perfect accuracy to their handlers. After a while the people would feed them misinformation and the Capitol shut the program down, and freed the birds so they can die off, but even animals have a will of their own. Seeing as how the Jabberjays were all male, and as a last act of defiance they mated with the female Mockingbird; creating the Mockingjay. The Mockingjay couldn't repeat word for word like its predecessor, but it could mimic whistles and human melodies. They vocal capacity ranged from a child's high pitch warbles to an adult's deep tones.

My father had a bond with the birds. Any bird in the area that heard his voice would fall silent and listen. Singing with the birds was a tradition I did not carry on after his death. Having the pin here is like having a piece of my father here, to protect me. As I fasten the pin to my shirt, which happens to be dark green, I can almost imagine the Mockingjay flying through the trees. As I enter the dining car I see that dinner is ready to be served. I also see a lot of breakable dishes and brace myself for any rant from Effie.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks.

"I think he said that he was going to take a nap." Peeta said.

"It has been an exhausting day. Effie says.

Not that anybody could blame her; Effie is probably relieved by Haymitch's absence. Dinner comes in many courses and it is extremely rich. By the time we finish the meal both Peeta and I turn a shade of green. I am determined to keep it down because I need to put on weight for the coming games, and because I've had stranger concoctions back at the Hob. After dinner we are herded into another car to watch the recap of the reaping. One by one the tributes either step forward to volunteer, or to take their place on the stage. A few of note stick out, but only one really drives it home from me. From District 11 a 12 year old girl takes the stage who shares some hauntingly similarities to Prim, except for her skin and her eyes are darker. Then District 12 airs, and I want to get up to leave the room; I already know what is going to happen. The commentators make a quip about Haymitch's antics, and then they cut to the anthem.

"Haymitch has much to learn about presentation." Effie huffs out.

"He's drunk every year." Peeta say, while chuckling.

"Every day actually." I say with a smirk

"How you two find it amusing is beyond me." Effie hisses. "But Haymitch is your lifeline in the games. He's the one that advises you, lines up your sponsor, and dictates the presentation of any gifts you get. Haymitch could very well be the difference between life and death in the arena."

It was at this point that Haymitch comes staggering into the car.

"I miss supper?" Haymitch asks with a slurred voice, and then proceeds vomit on the expense carpet. He passes out; just missing the pool of vomit.

Peeta and I share a look.

"Laugh away!" Effie exclaims, and then tip toes around the pool of vomit and leaves the room.

 _A/N: I know a lot of you are wondering what I have in store for Peeta and Katniss. But I need you to remain patient for just a little while longer. The first deviation happens at the end of chapter 5, from there I will have the changes you have been waiting; and plenty more to come._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I have to say that at first I was afraid that I was going to be met with staunch resistance, hate mail, and negative reviews. Since I started this story last Sunday I have over 400 hundred views. It may not sound like a lot, but it's enough to keep writing the story. Thank you for the views, it makes what seems like a daunting task less arduous._

For a few moments Peeta and I watch as our mentor struggles to get up. Peeta is the first to react; probably to keep Haymitch from placing his face, or hand in pool of vomit an inch to his left. I take into account what Effie says and realize that she is right about Haymitch being all that we have.

"I tripped?" Haymitch asked. "Something smells bad."

"Don't touch anything! Don't even move!" Peeta says.

Haymitch listens to Peeta. Peeta and I get Haymitch situated between the two of us.

"Let's get you back to your room, and get you cleaned up." Peeta says.

We half-lead, half-carry Haymitch back to his compartment; I barely missed stepping in the pool of vomit as we walk him back to his room. When we get him back to his room we notice that some of there was some vomit on Haymitch's pant leg.

"I'll take care of it from here." Peeta says.

I feel grateful because the last thing I want to do is strip Haymitch pants off.

"Just for measures I'm going to give him a bath." Peeta says.

 _I don't want to Haymitch naked either._ I think.

Peeta must be trying to earn some kind of small favor with Haymitch by going the extra mile, but judging by the state of his inebriation he probably won't remember this.

"Alright. I'll send for one of the Capitol's attendants." I say.

It's their job to be at our beck and call.

"I'll handle it." Peeta say without hesitation.

I can understand not wanting to involve them. I can't stand the sight of the Capitol personnel either, but having them taking care of Haymitch seems like a small form of revenge. Which makes me wonder why Peeta is volunteering to take care of Haymitch: _It's because he is being kind. Just like when he gave you the bread._

Shedding light on this turn of events pulls me up short. A kind Peeta is more dangerous than an unkind Peeta. Kind people work their way into me and laying down roots. I can't let Peeta do that. Not where we are going.

"See you at breakfast." I say and then exit the room.

As I'm leaving I can see out the corner of my eye that Peeta was surprised that I was still in the room. I decide that I will have nothing more to do with the baker's son; although in the pit of my stomach I get this feeling that I might have misjudged Peeta motives, but I don't care. I get back to my room and grab the box of cookies. I look at the box and wonder if it was the baker's idea, or did Peeta put him up to it. I realize that the train has stopped at a refueling station, so I open the window and throw the package of cookies out. As I slam the window shut I see that the cookies had landed in a patch of dandelions. I see the patch for a mere second before the train speeds off, but I _see_ the patch. Even if I shut my eyes it's as if it has been burned into my eyelids. I had just turned from Peeta's bruised face and I see the lone dandelion, and I knew that all hope wasn't lost.

I pick the dandelion and hurry home. I grabbed a bucket and Prim and we went to the Meadow; the field was blanketed with the golden-headed weeds. After we harvested those, we scavenged along the fence for dandelion greens, stems, and flowers. That night we gorge ourselves on dandelion salad and the rest of the bread from the bakery.

"What else can we eat? What food can we find?" Prim asks.

"Lots of food." I say. "I just have to remember them"

Mother had a book from her apothecary shop whose pages had aged a bit, but it gave me the necessary information. Plants that could be eaten, but are not used for healing. Dandelion, pokeweed, wild onion, and pine. Prim and I scour the book, studying it for the rest of the night. We head off to school the next day. I hang out at the edge of the Meadow before I work up the courage to slip under the fence. This was the first time I was in the woods without my father to protect me, but I still have that small bow and arrows that he made for me. I didn't venture more the twenty meters, I guess, into the woods that day. Most of the time I spent perched up in an old oak tree waiting for game to come. Few hours later I was rewarded with a rabbit. I've shot rabbits before with my father's guidance, but this kill was mine, no assistance.

The sight of the rabbit stirred something my mother upon seeing my haul when I return home that night. She skinned the carcass and put it in a stew, along with the greens that Prim had picked. As if confused be her actions, my mother went back to bed. After the stew was completed we made her eat a bowl. The woods became our savior. The next day when I went back in, I took the book also; I was determined to feed us. It was slow going at first: any sign of danger, a distant howl, or a sudden breaking of a branch sent me fleeing back to the fence. Overtime I got bolder: I would scramble up the nearest tree and wait the wild dogs out. After a time they would get bored and move on. Bears and cat lived deeper in the woods, perhaps disliking the smell of soot given off by the coal coming from the mines.

On my birthday I went and signed up for tessera, and took home my first batch of grain and oil in Prim's wagon, and I did so the 8th of every month. I continued to hunt because you couldn't live only on the grain and oil, plus we need supplies: soap, milk and thread. Whatever we didn't need I traded at the Hob. I was afraid to enter there without my father, but they respected him, and game is game. I sold at the back door of wealthier clients, trying to remember what my father taught me. The Head Peacekeeper loved wild turkey, and the mayor had a passion for strawberries.

Late in the summer I was washing up at a pond when I saw plants growing around me. Tall with leaves like arrowheads. Blossoms with three white petals. I knelt down in the water and dug my fingers through the mud; few seconds later I brought up the roots. Bluish tubers that don't look like much, but if they are boiled or baked they're as good as a potato.

"Katniss." I say.

The plant I was named after, and I can hear my father joking, "As long as you can find yourself, you'll never starve." I spent hours at the pond dig my toes through the mud, and harvesting the roots. That night we feast on fish and Katniss roots until we are full; really full, for the first time, in months. My mother slowly began to return to us: cleaning and preserving the food I brought in for the winter. And then one day she started singing again. Prim was happy to have her back, but in my mind I was prepared for her to bail again. That was the beginning of my distrust of my mother, and wondered if she would stick around.

In hindsight I nourished her back to health, and then I yelled at her yesterday in the Justice Building. Now I'm about to die without it ever being set right.

 _Before leaving I did tell that I loved her, and gave her a hug and kiss good-bye._ I thought.

"If I make it out of this I'm going to have to show her how much I love her, or at least make amends for my mistreatment towards her." I say.

I wanted to open the window again, but given the high rate of speed we are traveling at I decide against it. Off in the distance I see lights of the next district.

 _What district are we approaching; 7? 10?_ I question silently.

I don't know, I don't care. I imagine people settling in for the night. I imagine Prim and mom at home, and I wonder what they are doing. Did they eat the fish stew and strawberries, or did it remain untouched on their plates. My eyes start to well up as I continue to think about them. Did they watch the recap of the reaping on the old battered tv in the living against the wall? I'm sure there were tears shed by Prim; I shed a tear or two of my own. Is mom holding on, and keeping her fire burning bright for Prim? Or has she already began to falter and withdrawing from the world leaving Prim to fend for herself.

Prim will sleep with mom tonight, no doubt about that. The thought of Buttercup stand guard over Prim comforts me. If she cries, he will nose his way into arms and stay there until she calms down, and then fall sleep.

 _I'm glad I didn't drown him._ I think.

Imagining of home makes me ache inside with loneliness. The day feels like it has dragged on, wearing my resolve thin. Could Gale and I have been eating blackberries this morning? That felt like ages ago; now it's like a dream that has deteriorated into a nightmare. Maybe if I go to sleep, I will wake up in District 12, and not on this train bound for the Capitol. The drawers are probably filled with countless nightgowns, but I simply strip of my clothes and crawl into bed in my underwear.

I decide that if I'm going to cry this would be the perfect time. I could cry, and clean up the damage done in the morning before breakfast. But no tears come; probably too tired, too numb to cry. I desperately want to disappear into nothingness, so I let the train rock me into oblivion.

Gray light is casting shadows in my room when the rapping on the door wakes up. I can hear Effie though the door.

"Up! Up! UP! It's going to be a big day!"

For a moment I'm beside myself as I wonder what goes crawling through that mind. What thoughts stalk through her mind during her waking hours? What dreams come to visit her at night? Those thoughts are ones that I'm not going to unpack because she is already a handful when I'm not thinking about her brain. I put my outfit from yesterday back on because it's wrinkled more so than dirty. I trace the outline of the pin and I think of home, my father, and my mother and Prim getting on without me. I realize that I slept in the braid that my mother did; my hair looks good relatively manageable, so I decide to leave it in the braid. We can't be far from the Capitol. I will see my stylist who will make me up for the opening ceremonies tonight.

 _I just hope my stylist doesn't think that nudity is the latest craze in fashion._ I think.

As I enter the dining car Effie brush by with a cup of black coffee, muttering obscenities under her breath as she passes by.

 _Must have been something Haymitch did._ I think.

Haymitch, puffy eyed and red faced from yesterday's escapades, is chuckling. Peeta is holding a roll and looks somewhat embarrassed.

"Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch says waving me to the table.

The moment I slide into the chair I served an enormous platter of food: eggs, ham, heaping's of fried potatoes. There is a tureen of fruit that sits in ice to keep it chilled. The basket of bread they are passing around would keep a family in District 12 going for a week. There is an elegant glass of orange juice in front of me; I think its orange juice. I've only had an orange once, a special treat that my father bought on New Year's Day. I also see a cup of coffee on the table. Mother adores coffee, a luxury we could never afford; it leaves a bitter aftertaste in my mouth, and it's too thin for me. There is a glass of something I have never seen before. A cup full of a brown liquid, which I can tell is a luxury we could never afford because of its texture. Just looking at the liquid I can tell it has rich texture. I grab the cup and bring close to my face.

 _What have we here?_ I think.

"It's called hot chocolate." Peeta say. "It's delicious!"

I take a sip of the hot, sweet, creamy liquid and a shudder runs through my body.

 _Oh that hit the spot._ I think

Even though the food in front of me beckons my name; I ignore it until I empty my cup. Then I stuff food into me by the mouthfuls, remembering not to overdo it on the richness of the stuff. One time I remember my mother telling me that I'm eating like I'm never going to see food again. To which I reply "I won't if I don't bring it home." That usually shuts her up.

When my stomach feels like it's going to split open, I sit back and take in my breakfast companions, I see Peeta dip a piece of the roll he had in his hand into the beverage and then eat it, and Haymitch is ignoring the platter of food. Instead he is more content with knocking back a glass with a red juice in it. It appears that he is thinning it with a clear liquid from his bottle; judging by the fumes it is some kind spirit. I don't know Haymitch, but I've seen him in the Hob throwing money at the woman that sells the white liquor. He'll be drunk by the time we reach the Capitol.

I come to the realization that I despise Haymitch. It's not that the tributes from our district are underfed and lacked training; sometimes our tributes had a chance to win. They rarely get sponsors, and Haymitch is the main reason why. The rich people who back tributes- whether they are betting on them or simply bragging rights for picking the winner- expect someone classier than Haymitch to deal with.

"So you supposed to give us advice." I say to Haymitch.

"Yeah stay alive." Haymitch says.

"That's it?! Then why are you here?" I ask dumbfounded by our mentor.

"For the refreshments." Haymitch says, and then burst out into laugher.

Peeta and I share a look before I remember I want nothing to do with the man; Peeta eyes harden. He usually seems so mild.

"That's pretty funny." Peeta says. Peeta lashes out and knocks the glass out of Haymitch's hand. The glass shatters on the wall between the two of them; the material on the walls soaking up some of the blood red liquid, the rest soaking into the carpet.

"Except not to us." Peeta says.

Haymitch takes Peeta's reaction in stride, and then punches Peeta in the jaw, knocking him out of his chair. Watching Haymitch punch Peeta sets me off; I grab the nearest thing, which happens to be a knife, and then I drive it between his hand and the liquor bottle, missing his hand. I prepared to deflect a blow that's coming my way, but Haymitch squints at the both of us.

"What's this?" Haymitch asks. "Did I actually get a pair of fighter's this year?"

Peeta reaches for some ice from the tureen bowl to put on his jaw.

"No don't. Let the bruise show. It will look like you got into with one of the other tributes before entering the arena." Haymitch says.

"But's that illegal." Peeta says.

"Only if they catch you." Haymitch says.

"Two things." Haymitch says looking at me. "1) Congratulations, you just killed a place mat."

"Number two?" I ask.

"Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?" Haymitch asks me.

I pull the knife out of the table, flip it into the air grabbing the blade and then fling it into the wall. I was just hoping for it to stick into the wall, but when I turn to look at where the knife entered it not only got lodge into the wall; it stuck in the seam between to panels making me look a lot better than I really am.

"Stand over here." Haymitch says.

We move over to the center of the car. Haymitch gives us both a cursory glance.

"You're not entirely hopeless, and you seem fit enough. Once a stylist gets a hold of you, you'll be attractive enough too." Haymitch says.

Peeta and I stand there under the watchful eye of Haymitch and understand where he's going with this. The Games aren't a beauty pageant, but the best looking contestants usually pull more sponsors.

"Alright I'll make you a deal. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help." Haymitch says.

 _Not much of a deal, but compared to ten minutes ago when he was concerned with his drink it'll have to do._ I think.

"Fine." Peeta says.

"So help us." I say. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone-

"One thing at a time. In a few minutes we will be pulling into the station. From there you will be handed off to your stylist. You probably won't like what they will do to you, but don't resist." Haymitch says.

"But-" I begin.

"No _buts_. Don't resist." Haymitch says.

Haymitch sit back down at the table and grabs another glass. He pours more of that juice into the cup, in turn he mixes more of the liquor with it. Just as Haymitch finishes pouring his drink the train enters the tunnel; at certain intervals there are light on the ceiling. The only way to approach the Capitol from the east is either by train, or over the mountains which form a natural defense. The major downfall of the rebels trek over the mountains was that it made them easy targets for the Capitol's air force, which led to my being a tribute today. Peeta and I stand in silence as the train speeds along. Being encased in stone, separated from the sky, makes my chest tighten. It reminds me of my father being trapped in the mines, unable to reach the surface. Suddenly the train begins to slow, and a bright light floods the train car. We can't help it; Peeta and I run over to the window to see firsthand what we've seen only on tv; the Capitol, the ruling city of Panem. The cameras didn't lie about its grandeur; albeit, it didn't do it much justice.

The magnificence of the glistening rainbow hues that tower into the air, the shiny cars that roll down the widely paved streets. The oddly dressed people who don't missed a meal with their bizarre hair, and painted faces. All the colors seem too artificial: the pinks to deep, the greens to bright, and the yellows too painful to the eye like that candy disk we could never afford to buy back in District 12. The people begin to point eagerly as they see a tribute train enter the city. I pull back from the window, sickened by their excitement; knowing they can't wait to watch us die. But Peeta holds his ground. He's actually waving at the crowd for all his worth. He stops waving when the train pulls into the station.

"Who knows, one of they might be rich." Peeta says when he sees me staring at him.

Peeta heads for the door excited to see more; of the Capitol and its citizens, but I hear Haymitch speaks once Peeta is out of earshot.

"You may want to keep that knife. He knows what he's doing."

Peeta has a plan of some sorts. I think back to the beginning of the journey: the friendly squeeze when we shake hands. His father showing up with the cookies and a promise to feed Prim. His tears at the station. His willingness to bath Haymitch, and then confronting him this morning when nice-guy didn't pay off. Now Peeta's playing the crowd: waving and trying to make an impression. I feel that sensation in the pit of stomach from yesterday, but I ignore it.

 _All the pieces are coming together, but I sense he has a plan in the works. He hasn't accepted death, in fact he is fighting hard to stay alive. Which means the kind Peeta Mellark, the boy who give me the bread, is fighting hard to kill me._ I think.


	5. Chapter 5

R-i-i-i-p!

 _Gah!_ I think through gritted teeth.

Venia, a woman with aqua hair and gold color tattoos above her eyes, yanks a strip of fabric from my leg; tearing the hair from underneath it.

"Sorry!" She says in her silly Capitol accent. "You're just so hairy!"

 _Try living in District 12._ I think sarcastically.

Why do these people speak in such high pitches? Why do their mouths barely open when they talk? Why do the ends of their sentences go up like they're asking questions? Odd vowels, clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter S; no wonder it's impossible not to mimic them.

Venia makes, I'm guessing, what's supposed to be a sympathetic face.

"Good news, this is the last strip. Ready?" She asks.

I grip the edge off the table that I'm seated on bracing for the last attack, and nod; she pulls the final swathe of leg hair out in one painful jerk.

 _Who does that more than once for the fun of it; let alone who thinks that is a great idea!_ I think.

I've been in the Remake Center for three hours, and still haven't seen my stylist. Guess he didn't want to see me until Venia and the rest of my prep team have addressed the obvious problems. This includes scrubbing my body down with a foam that not only removes dirt, but three layers of skin, turning my nails into uniform shapes, and primarily remove all my body hair. My legs, arm, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows have been stripped of the stuff; leaving me looking like a plucked bird ready to be roasted! I don't like it. My skin feels sore, it is tingling, and it feels vulnerable. But I have kept my side of the bargain with Haymitch; no objections have crossed my lips.

"You're doing very well." Flavius says. He give his orange corkscrew locks a shake and then applies a fresh coat of purple lip stick to his mouth. "If it's one thing we can't stand, it's a whiner. Grease her down!"

Venia and Octavia, a _rather_ plump woman whose body has been dye a pale shade of pea green, rub me down with a lotion that at first stings, but it then soothes my raw skin. Then they pull me from the table, while they removed the thin robe that they allowed me to wear off and on. I stand there completely naked, as the three of them circle me, wielding tweezers removing any last bit of hair. I should be embarrassed, but they are so unlike people that I'm no more self-conscious than if oddly colored birds were pecking at my feet.

The trio step back to admire their work.

"Excellent! You almost look like a human being now." Flavius says, and they all laugh.

I force the corners of my lips up into a smile, pretending to be grateful. "Thank you." I say. "We don't have much of a reason to look nice in District 12."

This wins them over completely.

"Of course you don't you poor darling!" Octavia says, clasping her hands together in distress for my sake.

 _I think it's for my sake._ I think.

"Don't worry, by the time Cinna is through you will be gorgeous!" Venia exclaims.

 _My stylist's name is Cinna._ I think. _I hope he competent man._

"We promise!" Flavius says. "You know, now that you are clean up we should call for Cinna!"

They all dart out of the room. Though they are such idiots, it's hard to hate them; they sincerely are trying to help me. I take in the room I'm in: cold, white walls that are clean and surgical. I fight the urge to retrieve my robe, knowing that Cinna will make me remove it. My finger find their way to the only part my team didn't touch. I run my hand through the silk braid that my mother had put my hair in.

 _Mom!_ I think.

I forgot to retrieve her dress and shoes from the train, to have something to remember her by. Now I wish I would have grabbed them. The door opens, and a new man walks in.

 _So this is Cinna._ I think. _Definitely not what I was expecting._

I'm taken back by how normal he is. Most stylist they are interview are dyed, stenciled, and surgically altered they're grotesque. But the young man in front of me looks as normal as I do. His close cropped hair matches its natural shade of brown. He's in a simple black shirt and pants. The only concession of alteration he makes is the metallic gold eyeliner that was applied with a light hand. It brings out the gold flecks in his green eyes. Despite my disgust for the Capitol and their hideous fashion sense, I can't help thinking of how attractive it looks on Cinna.

"Hi, Katniss. I'm your stylist; my name is Cinna." He says in a quiet voice lacking the inflections used by the Capitol's citizens.

"Hello." I say, without letting onto my cautiousness.

"Give me a minute, all right?" He asks.

I nod as he takes in every inch of my body walking around me with a critical eye. I resist the urge to cover my body. I forget the fact that I stark naked.

"Who did your hair?" Cinna asks.

"My mother." I say.

"It's beautiful. Classic really. And it's in perfect balance with you profile, she has very clever fingers." He's says.

 _Thanks mom._ I think.

I had expected someone flamboyant, someone old desperately trying to look young. Someone who views me as a piece of meat to be prepare for a platter. Cinna doesn't fit the profile for any of these.

"Are you new this year?" I ask. "I don't think I have ever seen you before."

Most of the stylist are familiar, constants in an ever changing pool of tributes. Some of the stylist for the other districts I have seen since I was old enough to remember watching the games at a young age.

"Yes, this is my first year in the Games." Cinna says.

"They gave you District 12?" I ask, knowing that newer stylist get the least desirable districts.

"Actually I asked for District 12." Cinna says.

 _Interesting._ I think. _He chose me, instead of being given me._

"Why don't you put on your robe and we'll have a chat." Cinna says.

I pull on my robe, and then we exit the room. The room we enter into is a sitting room with two red couches facing each other with a table in the center. I have a seat on one couch, and Cinna sits on the one across form me. Cinna presses a button on the table, the top splits open and from below another table enters that has our lunch. Chicken and orange chunks cooked in a creamy sauce laid on a bed of white grain; tiny green peas and onions. Rolls shaped like flowers, and dessert was a pudding the color of honey. Looking at this meal and the cost to prepare it is making my head spin.

Chickens are too expensive, but I could substitute it with turkey; I'd have to shoot a second one to trade for the orange. The vegetables are easy to come by; we either grow them, or I could pick them in the woods. The cream I could get from Prim's goat. The rolls would be another trade- two, maybe three squirrels. The grain is a new type, but the tessera would be an imperfect substitute. I have no idea on how to make the dessert. So it would take a few days labor of hunting and gather to make this meal, and it would be a poor imitation of this meal.

I begin to think what it would be like to be able to have a meal at the press of a button? What would I do with my time that I spend combing the woods now that I can get food at the touch of a button? What do the citizens of the Capitol do all day since they don't have to worry about their food? Decorate their bodies and await a new shipment of tributes to roll and watch them die for their entertainment. I look up to find Cinna's eyes on me.

"How despicable we must seem to you." Cinna says.

Cinna must have seen this on my face, and then read my thoughts. He's right though. The lot of them are despicable.

"Although you seem to have a sensible head on your shoulders; Flavius, Octavia, and Venia are too ignorant for their own good." I say, attempting to take the sting out of my accusation.

"No matter," Cinna says. "Your costume for the opening ceremony; my partner Portia, the stylist for Peeta, and I have decided to have you both dressed in complementary costumes. As you know it's customary to reflect the flavor of the district."

For the opening ceremony, you're supposed to wear something that suggests district's principle industry. District 3 is factories, District 4 is fishing, and District 11 is agriculture. This means that coming from District 12, Peeta and I will be in some kind of miners get up. Since the miner's jumpsuit is very unbecoming, our tributes usually end up wear skimpy outfits and hats with head lamps. One year the tributes were stark naked and cover in black powder to represent coal dust. It's dreadful and does nothing to win favors with the crowd, so I prepare myself for the worst.

"I'll be in a coal miner's outfit?" I ask hoping that the outfit wouldn't be indecent.

"Not exactly. Portia and I think that the coal miner look is overdone. No one will remember you dressed like that. We both see it as our jobs to make you and Peeta unforgettable." Cinna says.

 _We're going to be naked._ I think.

"So instead of focusing on the coal mining, were going to focus on the coal itself.

 _Naked and cover in dust!_ I think.

"And what do we do with coal? We burn it." Cinna says. "You're not afraid of fire are you, Katniss?"

 _The plot thickens._ I think.

A few hours later I'm dressed in what will either be the most sensational, or deadliest costume in the opening ceremonies. I'm in a shiny black unitard that covers me from my ankles to my neck; paired with shiny black, leather boots that lace up to my knees. But it's the cape and head dress that get my attention. Cinna's plan is to light both of them on fire before our chariot takes to the streets.

"It's not a real flame, of course; it's a synthetic fire that both Portia and I came up with; you'll be perfectly safe." Cinna says. But I not convinced I won't be perfectly barbecued by the time I reach the city's center. My face is relatively clear of make up; just a few spots of high-lightning here and there. My hair has been brushed out and put back in the same braid.

"I want the audience to recognize you in the arena. "Cinna says dreamily. "Katniss, the girl who was on fire."

 _That's putting it mildly._ I think.

It crosses my mind that beneath Cinna's cool, calm, and collected exterior lies a madman. Despite this morning's revelations about Peeta, I'm relieved when he shows wearing the same, identical uniform. He should know about fire, being a baker's son and all. Portia, Peeta's stylist, and both of our prep teams are brimming with excitement, giddy about what a splash we are about to make; Cinna, on the other hand, keeps his humble exterior up and accepts his congratulations, but he does so wearily. We're whisked to the bottom level of the Remake Center; which is essential a giant stable. The opening ceremonies are about to start. Pairs of tributes are being loading onto chariots being pulled by a team of four horses. The horses are so trained nobody needs to guide their reigns. Cinna and Portia direct us to our chariot. They position us and our capes, and then step away to consult with each other.

"What do you think?" I whisper to Peeta. "About the fire?"

"I'll rip of your cape if you rip off mine." Peeta says through gritted

"Deal." I say. If we rip the capes off we may be able to avoid the worst burns. It's bad though; whatever condition we are in they will still throw us into the arena.

"I know we promised Haymitch we wouldn't argue with the stylist, but I don't think he considered this angle." I say.

"Where is Haymitch anyways? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" Peeta asks.

 _Seriously._ I think.

"Given the amount of alcohol that man consumes, it's probably not advisable to have him near an open flame." I say.

And suddenly we're both laughing. I guess we're both so nervous about the Games, or more importantly, about becoming human torches, we aren't acting sensibly.

The opening music begins to play. It's easy to hear because it's being blasted around the Capitol. Massive doors open, revealing crowd-lined streets. The ride last about twenty minutes, and ends up at the City Circle; where they will welcome us; play the anthem, and then escort us into the Training Center, which will be our home/prison until the Games begin. District 1 pulls out being pulled by snow-white horses. They look beautiful in their in their tasteful, silver spray-painted tunics. The make jewels, and other luxury items for the Capitol. They're always the favorite. District 2 pulls up, and rolls out behind them. In no time we are getting close to the door; I can see that between the overcast sky and the evening hour the light looks gray. Just as District 11 is leaving Cinna appears with the torch and lights our capes.

"Here we go." Cinna says, and then lights our capes.

I gasp expecting the heat, but all I feel is a tickling sensation. Cinna then climbs up and ignites our headdresses.

"It works." Cinna says as he lets out a sigh of relief. Cinna reaches out and lifts my chin. "Remember, heads highs. Smiles. They're going to love you."

Cinna jumps down, but has one last idea. Before he could shout up to us the music drowns him. He shouts again and gestures.

"What did he say?" I ask Peeta. I look at Peeta for the first time since Cinna lit the flame, and he looks dazzling. Which means I must, too. Looking at Peeta I feel a sensation of longing in my heart, but I tamp it down.

 _Chalk it up to nervousness._ I think.

"I think he wants us to hold hands." Peeta says.

Peeta locks our hands together, and we turn to get confirmation from Cinna. He give us a thumbs up, and that's the last thing I see as we're pulled into the city. The crowd's initial alarm at our appearance quickly turns to cheering and shouts of "District Twelve!" All head turn to us, pulling attention from three chariots ahead. I'm frozen at first not sure what to think, but then I catch sight of a large television and I'm floored by how breathtaking we look. In deep twilight, the firelight illuminates our faces making us look breathtaking. We seem to be leaving a trail of fire from our capes. Cinna was right about the minimal make up, we both look more attractive, but utterly recognizable.

 _Hold your heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you._ I hear Cinna voice in my head. I lift my chin higher, put my game winning smile on, and start waving to the crowd with my free hand. I'm glad I have Peeta's hand to hold onto. He's steady as a rock, and balances for the both of us. When I gain more confidence I start blowing kiss to the crowd; which they eat up. The start throwing flowers, shouting our names, our first names which they bothered to look up in the program.

The pounding music, the cheers, the admiration work their way into my blood, and I can't contain my excitement. Cinna has given me an advantage. No one will forget me. Not my face. Not my name. Katniss, the girl who was on fire.

For the first I time since leaving District 12, I feel a flicker of hope rising up in me. Surely there must be a sponsor willing to take me on! With some food, a little help, and the right weapon; why should I count myself out of the Games?

Someone throws a red rose and I catch it. I give it a delicate sniff, and blow kisses in the general direction it came from. A hundred hands reach for my kisses, as if it's a real and tangible thing.

"Katniss! Katniss!"

I can hear my name being shout on all sides. Everyone wants my kisses. It's not until we reach the City Center that I probably cut off the circulation to Peeta's hand' that's how tightly I held onto his hand. I look down at our linked fingers as I loosen my grasp, but Peeta regains his grip.

"Don't let go." Peeta says. The firelight flickering off his blue eyes. _Beautiful._ I think. "I might fall off this thing." Peeta says.

"Okay." I say.

So I keep holding his hand. But I think of how unfair it is for Cinna to present us as a team, just to lock us in an arena to kill each other. The twelve chariots fill the loop of City Center. On the buildings that surround the Circle, the windows are filled with the Capitols most prestigious citizens. Our chariot pulls up in front of President Snow's mansion, and then the music comes to a resounding end.

The president, a small thin man with paper white hair, gives the official welcome from the balcony far above. It's tradition for the cameras to pan from tribute pair to tribute pair during the speech, but I can see on the screen we are getting more than our fair share of screen time. The darker it gets the hard it gets to take your eyes of us. When the national anthem plays, they make an effort to pan to the rest of the tributes, but the cameras hold fast on District 12's chariot.

 _That's going to leave a bad taste in their mouths._ I think about how the cameras had snubbed the other tributes.

As the doors to the Tribute Center shut behind us we're flanked by our prep team, who are in uproar over our big show in the opening ceremonies, and our stylist. Haymitch, oddly enough, decides to make an appearance now as Portia and Cinna are putting the fire out.

"So brave." Haymitch says.

"Are you sure you should be near an open flame?" I ask to Haymitch.

Peeta gets a laugh.

"Fake flame? Are you sure…."

Haymitch stops in mid retort when he sees a problem. Peeta and I look over our shoulders and we see the problem: the tributes from district 2 are giving us dirty looks.

"Let's take this upstairs where we can talk in private." Haymitch says.

Peeta holds us back from our group to speak more privately.

"Thanks for holding me, I was getting a shaky there." Peeta says.

"It didn't show." I tell him. "I'm sure no one noticed.

I realize that we are still holding hands. So I finally extricate my fingers from Peeta's. We massage our hands as Peeta speaks.

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything, but you." He says. "You should wear flames more often, they suit."

Peeta then gives me a smile that is a perfect mix of sweetness and shyness that it sends and unexpected warmth coursing through my veins.

And then a warning bell goes off in my head. _Don't be stupid. Peeta is planning to kill you._ I remind myself. _He is luring you in to make you an easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly he is._

Because two can play that game, I stand on my tiptoe and kiss his cheek; right on his bruise. Again I feel that sensation in my gut. What happens next I can only explain as a war between my brain and my heart. As I shift my weight onto the balls of my feet preparing to kiss his check, my brain is shouting at me _you're going to regret this_ , but I ignore it. What happens next is something I couldn't have prepared myself for. Any rational thought that had considered Peeta an enemy takes a hike; exits stage left. It hitches a ride on the next train and leaves; never to return again. My body is currently experiencing the boosts I get when I am hunting in the woods: a heightened sense of awareness, accelerated heart rate to aid in blood flow, quickening of the blood to assist with muscle movement, and finally dilated pupils to increase my light intake to improve my field of vision. My body is registering Peeta as a target, but I've never experienced anything like this. My brain a few minutes ago was telling me to be weary of him, but my heart is telling me to accept this boy. I get the feeling that Peeta is going to someone special to me; something _more_. I don't know why? I don't know how? I have yet to determine what these feelings are, or how to categorize them, but with the coming Games my time is limited.

Peeta must have sensed the change in me because he offers his arm to me. I take his arm, giggling, and we continue walking to the elevator.

"You know." I say. Peeta looks at me as I start talk; I can see his that his pupils have also dilated. "When I saw the firelight flickering in your eyes, I was left breathless at the beauty I saw reflecting back at me."

The look I saw in his eyes when I admitted to seeing the beauty was one that I don't know how to classify, and he gave me the biggest smile I have ever seen. As we stepped onto the elevator all the adults were giving us strange looks, so we let go of each other's arm. I missed the contact as soon as we let go.


	6. Chapter 6

The Training Center has a tower designed exclusively for the tributes and their team. This will be our home until the actual games begin. Each district has a floor to themselves. You simply step on the elevator and you press the number of your district. Easy enough to remember. I've ridden the elevator in District 12 a couple of times; once when I received the medal after my father's death, and then yesterday after I said my good-byes to my family and friends. Unlike the one in District 12, the one that creeped along like a snail and smelled of spoiled milk, this elevator walls are made of glass; I watch the people on the ground floor shrink to the size of ants as we ascend to the penthouse. It's exhilarating, and I'm tempted to ask Effie if we can ride it again, but it seemed too childish.

It's seems that Effie's duties didn't conclude once we left the station. Both she and Haymitch will be overseeing us right up until we enter the arena. In a way that's good because she has a penchant for following a schedule, unlike Haymitch who.

 _Where's Haymitch?_ I think.

Haymitch must have gotten lost in the crowd when Peeta and I stepped onto the elevator.

 _Must have found some more alcohol, and is trying to get himself prepared for things to come._ I think.

Effie on the other hand is soaring high, and running non-stop.

 _Must be all that coffee she drinks._ I think. _I wonder if she main-lines that stuff._

We're also the first team she has worked with to make a big entrance at the opening ceremonies. She complimentary about not just our costumes, but also how we conducted ourselves.

 _Effie sure is stickler for manners._ I think.

From the way Effie tells it, she knows everyone who's anyone in the Capitol and has been talking us up all day trying to win us sponsors.

"I've been very mysterious though." Effie says glancing at us. "Haymitch didn't tell me your strategies, so I just told them what I know. How Katniss volunteered for her sister, and both of you over the coming the barbarism of your district."

Barbarism? That's ironic given this woman is helping us prepare to slaughter. What is she basing our success on? Our table manners?

"Everyone has their reservations about you, being from the coal district, but I said, and this very clever of me, "If you put enough pressure on coal it turns into pearls."

Effie beams at us, and all we can do is smile back at her; even if she is wrong. Pearls aren't made from coal, they're found in shellfish. She possibly means that coal turns into diamonds, but I've heard of a machine in District 1 that can turn graphite into diamonds. We don't mine graphite; that's was District 13's job when they were still active. I wonder if the people she has been talking us up to knows the difference, or if they even care.

"Unfortunately I can't seal the deal with the sponsors. That's Haymitch's job, but I will get him to the table; even if I have to do it at gunpoint." Effie says.

 _Points for originality and tenacity._ I think.

Effie may lack in many departments, but she has a certain determination that I have to admire.

My quarters are bigger than my house back home. And they're just as fancy as my room on the train, but there are so many buttons, and automatic gadgets I'm sure I won't be able to press them all to figure out what they do. The shower alone has more than a hundred options that regulate water pressure, soap, shampoo, scents, oils, and massaging sponges. Once you step out of the shower the pad activates heaters that blow-dries my body. Instead of fighting knots, I place my hand on a panel that sends an electric current to my scalp that untangles, parts and dries my hair instantly. My hair floats effortlessly past my shoulders in a glossy curtain.

 _I could have used that hair machine back in District 12._ I think.

I peruse the closet looking for an outfit to my liking. There is a machine that allows me to order whatever I want to eat; I just have to speak it into the machine. Next thing I know I'm walking around my room eating goose liver and puffy bread until there is a knock on the door. It was Effie telling me it was time for dinner.

 _Good. I'm starved._ I think.

Portia, Peeta, and Cinna are on the balcony overlooking the Capitol when we enter the dining room. I'm glad the stylist are going to be present for dinner; particularly after hearing that Haymitch will be joining us.

 _Last time it was just the three of us, Peeta end up with a bruise on his jaw._ I think.

I'm angered by the memory, but the bruise gave Peeta some flair. I don't have a lot people to compare it with, so I just have to make do with what I have; back to the topic at hand. A meal presided over by just Effie and Haymitch is just asking for trouble. Besides dinner isn't just about the food, it's also about planning out strategies; Cinna and Portia have already proven how valuable they are. Our server was offering a white wine; I'm about to turn it down, but I accept. The only other wine I had was that cough syrup that mom uses, so who knows when will I get the chance to have it again. It's has a bland taste, and could use a boost with a sweetener; like sugar or honey. Haymitch shows up just as dinner is being served. It seems that Haymitch has a stylist of his own because he's cleaned, groomed, and as sober as I've ever seen him. Haymitch takes the offer of wine, but starts in on his soup.

 _This is the first time I have ever seen Haymitch eat anything._ I think.

Portia and Cinna have a civilizing effect on Effie and Haymitch. The two of them are address each other respectfully, and they have nothing but praise for Portia and Cinna's hand in the opening act. While the adults continue to make small talk, I turn my attention to my meal. Mushroom soup, bitter greens and tomatoes the size of peas. Roast beef sliced paper thin, noodles serve in a green sauce, and cheese that melts in your mouth served with sweet blue grapes. All the servers are dressed in white, and float effortlessly around the table keeping our plates, and glasses full.

Halfway through my glass of wine my head starts to get foggy, and I switch to water. I don't like the feeling, and I hope it wears off soon. How Haymitch walks around in a perpetual state of haziness like that is beyond me. I try to focus on the conversation, which is about our interview costumes, when this girl dressed in red puts a delicious-looking cake in front of me and lights it. The fire burns for a moment before going out. I have my doubts. "What makes it burn like that? Is it alcohol?" I ask looking up at the girl. "Because that is the las- Oh! I know you!"

In that moment I knew should have kept my mouth shut, but I was beside myself. I can't place a name or a time to the girl's face. But I'm certain I know her! The dark red hair, white skin. But even as I mutter the words my insides contract with anxiety and guilt. Although I can't recall the memory, I know some bad memory is associated with her. The expression of terror that crosses her face only adds to my unease and confusion. The girl shakes her head in denial, and quickly hurries away from the table. When I look at the adults they are all watching me like hawks. I turn to Peeta and give him a look that say _I'm screwed_. Peeta was watching my reaction.

"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss. How could you possibly know an Avox?!" Effie snaps. "The very thought."

 _Must feign ignorance._ I think.

"What's an Avox?" I ask stupidly.

"Someone who has committed a crime. They cut out her tongue, so she can't talk." Haymitch says. "She's probably a traitor of some sorts; not likely you would know her."

 _Want to bet._ I think.

"And even if you did, you're not to speak to one unless it's to give it an order." Effie says. "Of course you don't know her."

But I do know her. Now that Haymitch mentioned the word traitor, I know exactly where I know her from. The disapproval is high, and I could never admit it, but with the wine in me I just can't keep my mouth shut.

"No, I guess it was-"

Peeta snaps his fingers. "Delly Cartwright. I kept thinking she looked familiar. She's a dead ringer for Delly Cartwright."

 _Nice save Peeta!_ I think.

Delly Cartwright is a girl from District 12 that smiled at everybody, including me. Delly Cartwright resembles that Avox as much as a beetle resembles a butterfly. But I don't hesitate to jump at the way out Peeta had just given me.

"Of course that's who it was. It must have been the hair." I say.

"I could see the resemblance in her eyes too." Peeta says.

The energy at the table settles down, and I relax considerably.

"Well if that's all," Cinna says. "Then yes the cake is made with spirits, but the alcohol has all burned off. I ordered in honor of your fiery debuted."

As we eat the cake I turn to Peeta and mouth _Thank you_. He nods his head in understanding. I feel that sensation in my stomach again, and I feel giddy, happy even. After we finish eating the cake we head into the sitting room to watch the replay of the opening ceremonies. A few of the other couples make an impression, but none of them hold a candle to us; even members of our own team lets out an "Ahh!" when we exit the Remake Center.

"Whose idea was it for them to hold hands?" Haymitch asks.

"Cinna." Portia replies.

"Perfect." Haymitch says. "Adds a nice touch of rebellion to it."

 _Rebellion._ I think.

I have to think on that one to understand Haymitch's meaning. But when I remember that the other couples standing stiffly, ignoring their partner as if they didn't exist, like the Games had already begun; I understand Haymitch's point. Presenting us as allies, and not adversaries has distinguished us as much as our fiery costumes.

"Tomorrow is the first day of training. Meet me for breakfast and I will tell you how we're going to play this. Haymitch says to both Peeta and I. "So go get some rest and let the grown-ups talk."

Peeta and I get up and leave together, but as soon as were out of the view of the adults Peeta hesitantly reaches out and grabs my hand. At first I'm taken back, but I let it go. It's a foreign concept: holding hands with somebody, in light of the looming Games, but give the revelation that I had before dinner I don't fight it. I remember my father and mother holding hands from time to time when I was younger. As a matter of fact I feel that same sensation in my heart again, and I welcome his hand. As we get to my door, he doesn't let go of my hand. He just leans up against the frame not to block my entrance, but making sure he has my attention.

"Imagine my surprise that I find Delly Cartwright's lookalike here." Peeta says.

He's not mad, or upset; albeit, he did cover me, so Peeta is just looking for an explanation. I do something even more foreign: I reach out for his other hand to hold it, forcing us to stand toe to toe, looking each other in the eyes; while I explain my connection to the Avox.

 _I have no idea what these feelings are that I'm experiencing; let alone these emotions that are coursing through my body, but I don't want them to stop._ I think. I look into Peeta's eyes, _oh how I could get lost staring into them for hours_. I think, and begin to explain how I met the girl. Before I can get one word out my head turns back towards the living room with all the adults. Peeta senses my hesitation and suggests.

"Have you been up on the roof yet? Cinna show it to me earlier." Peeta says. I shake my head. "You can see the whole city, though the wind is a bit loud."

In my head that last part translates into "No one will hear us talking." You almost get the sense we are under surveillance.

"Can we just go up?" I ask.

"Sure." Peeta lets go of one my hands, but his left hand is still holding my right hand. _I'm definitely going to have to get used to that. It's so weird, but._

I don't finish that thought because before I can define the feeling of our holding hands, we're on the roof; the view of the Capitol from there takes my breath away. We're in a small dome-shaped room. I breathe the fresh, crisp air in as we step out onto the balcony; I see the lights across the city that twinkle like a field of fireflies. Electricity is very unreliable in District 12; we're lucky to get a few hours a day; the nights are usual spent under candle light. The only time the electricity is reliable is when there is an important government message, or when they're airing the Games. But here in the Capitol there would never be a shortage of electricity. Ever. We walk out to the rail, I look down and see that we are still holding hands.

It seems strange that a day ago I considered Peeta an enemy, but just a kiss has changed my perspective of him. I turn my attention back to the city, _I'll ponder these feelings later_. I think. I look over the railing down to the streets below. You can hear the cars passing by, the occasional shout, and a strange tinkling sound. In District 12 we'd be thinking about going to bed right now.

"I asked Cinna why they would let us up on to the roof. I asked if they were afraid if we were going to jump over the side of the building." Peeta says.

"What did he say?" I asked.

"You can't." Peeta says.

Peeta let go of my hand, and then reached out into the air. After a few seconds there's a sharp zap and he pulls it back quickly.

"Some kind of electrical field that keeps us from jumping off." Peeta says.

"Always worried about our safety." I say.

Even though Cinna showed Peeta the roof, I wonder if we're supposed to up here, this late and alone.

 _Not that I mind the alone part._ I think.

I have never seen tributes on top of the Training Center, but that doesn't mean we're still being recorded.

"You think they're watching us now?" I ask.

"Maybe." Peeta say. "Come see the garden."

Peeta offers his arm, which I take, and they we turn and walk into the garden. On the other side of the dome they built a garden; they have flower beds and potted trees. From the branches of the trees hang hundreds wind chimes that account for the tinkling I heard earlier. In the center of garden is a gazebo, and hanging from the ceiling is a porch swing. As we're seated on the swing we go from holding arms, to holding hands again. In the garden on a windy night it's enough to drown out people who don't want to be heard. Peeta looks at me expectantly; I pretend to stare off into the distance as I recall the memory.

"We were hunting in the woods one day; hidden, waiting for game to present itself." I whisper.

"Your father and you?" Peeta asks.

"No, my friend Gale. Nothing was out of the ordinary until we heard the birds stop singing, except one, and it gave a warning call. That was when we say her. I'm sure it was her. She had a boy in tow; their clothes were tatter, and dark circle under their eyes from a lack of sleep." I say.

I fall silent and relive the moment again. I could tell they were different, not from District 12. Their clothes were the big give away; although they were ripped and darkened from days on the run, the colors and the patterns were definitely not something you see in the districts.

 _Possibly 1, or 2 maybe, but not the latter districts._ I think.

Their sudden appearance and fleeing froze me and Gale. Later I wondered if we could have helped them. We could have concealed them, given them shelter, but we stay hidden and watched the scene unravel.

"Before we could do anything a hovercraft appeared out of nowhere; I mean one second the sky is clear, then the next moment it's there." I continue with the story. "I see the hovercraft drop a net onto the girl and it pulls her up fast into hovercraft likes attached to an elevator. Next it shoots out a spear and that impales the boy. I'm sure he's dead before they pull him up into the hovercraft. She screams, the boy's name probably; and then it's gone. The hovercraft disappears into thin air, and then the birds start singing again as if nothing happened."

"Do you think she saw you?" Peeta asked.

"I'm not sure." I lie because a moment before the hovercraft appeared she looked in our direction. And for a moment I'm almost sure that we made eye contact. She cried for help, but we did nothing.

"You're shivering." Peeta says.

The wind and the story have blown the warmth out of my body. I lean forward as Peeta takes his jacket, he the wraps it around my body, and then buttons the top button under my chin. What Peeta does next, and my response catches me off guard. I kick my shoes off and put my legs under me as Peeta wraps his arm around my shoulder. I lay my right arm across my lap, as I lay my left arm against him chest, resting my head on his shoulder.

 _What is this I'm experiencing?_ I think, but I don't question. I just get lost in the moment.

"You think they were from here?" Peeta asks.

I nod. They had the look of this place about them; the girl and boy.

"Where do you think there were going?" Peeta asked.

"I don't know." I say.

District 12 is the end of the line. There is nothing beyond us besides woods; that and the smoking, toxic ruins of 13. If you believe what the Capitol tells you.

"Why would they leave here?" I ask.

They had everything. Haymitch called the Avoxes traitors. Against what? The only thing it could be would be this place. But why? They have everything here; no cause to rebel.

"I'd leave here." Peeta blurts out.

"Sh!" I say excitedly.

Peeta looks around nervously; it's loud enough to be heard over the chimes; he laughs. "I'd go home right now if they let me, but you have to admit the food is prime."

He's covered again. If that's all you heard it would sound like the words of a scared tribute, not somebody questioning the goodness of this place.

"It's getting chilly; let's head back in." Peeta says.

I extricate myself from my sitting position. When we enter the dome, Peeta picks the conversation back up, but back to the day of the reaping.

"Your friend Gale. He was the one who took you sister away the day of the reaping." Peeta said.

"Yeah. You know him?" I ask.

"Not personally. I hear the girls talk about him in the hall at school. You favor him, so I thought he was you cousin, or something." Peeta says.

"We're not related." I tell Peeta.

Peeta nods, unreadable. "Did he come to say good-bye?"

"Yes." I say, wondering where Peeta was going with this. "So did your father. He brought a package of cookies."

Peeta was taken back when I mention his father, but I take it in stride remembering he lied to cover for me at dinner.

"Really? He liked you and your sister; he wishes he had a daughter instead of house full of boys." Peeta says.

The idea that I was discussed in his house in passing, or while they were working gives me a start. Must have been while his mother wasn't present.

"My father knew your mother when they were younger." Peeta says.

Another surprise, but probably true. "Oh, yeah; she grew up in town." I say. It seemed impolite to say that she never mentioned the baker except to compliment his bread.

We're at my door and I hand his coat back.

See you in the morning, then." I say.

"See you in the morning." Peeta says.

I had my hand on the doorknob and was about to open it when I had an idea. Something I saw my parents do when I was younger. And it would be a way to breach the subject.

"Peeta." I say.

I walk towards Peeta before he can turn around. Just as he is turning around I was two feet from him.

"Yeah." Peeta says.

"No matter what happens we can't tell anybody about our feelings for each other." I say in a hushed tone.

"Why?" Peeta asks in the same tone, his eyes start to become cloudy like a storm is brewing.

"Trust me Peeta if word of our interactions got out it could end badly." I say.

Peeta stares at me, wonder where this is going. I'm afraid that if the other tributes, or even Capitol leadership found out it could prove detrimental to our…

 _Relationship?_ I think. _I can handle a lot of things, but being separated from Peeta permanently would be a disaster._

"Peeta think about: I'm not saying what we're doing is wrong, I'm all for it; but male and female tributes getting cozy is probably frowned upon. If word got out that were getting friendly with each other, it could have harmful consequences." I say.

"So what do you suggest?" Peeta asks. I can visible see him relax.

"We follow Haymitch's lead, but keep our personal interactions to a minimum until we get ready for bed. You saw the way the adults looked at us when we walked onto the elevator earlier tonight." I say.

"We could have played it off." Peeta says, I can see that he can easily slip in and out of masks.

 _I'm going have to learn how to do that._ I think.

"True, but we did the right thing. But we have to keep our interactions between us. The holding hands, the linked arms, the kissing would be frowned upon by other people if they knew we were performing those acts; or worse. They could use it as a sick twist in their games." I say.

Halfway through my speech I see Peeta turn his head to the side. I mirror his action.

"What?" I ask.

"You said kissing." Peeta said. "But you only kissed me once; after the opening ceremony."

I'm hesitant at first, but I gain all the courage I could muster and repeat my actions from earlier. I can see Peeta's eye grow to the size of saucers, but I pull him into me and kiss him on the lips. Even though neither of us had kisses another living soul before, we both closed our eyes.

 _Must have learn that from our parents._ I think.

When we break the kiss I miss the contact already, but we both had to breathe. I wink at Peeta.

"Remember what I said."

I turn and walk back to my room, open the door and shut the door behind me. Before I shut the door I could see the look on Peeta's face. He was in total shock that I had just kissed him. When I shut the door I see that the Avox girl was picking up my outfit and boots off the floor from where I left them earlier before I took a shower.

 _She sure is quiet._ I think.

And then I remember my scene at the dinner table. I want to apologize for possibly getting her into trouble earlier, but I remember Effie said that I'm not supposed to talk to her unless I'm giving her an order.

"I'm sorry. I was supposed to give those to Cinna earlier. Can you make sure he gets those?" I ask.

The girl avoids making eye contact, but nods that she would. After she leaves my room I think how I set out to apologize for my actions at dinner, but I know my apology runs much deeper than that. I'm ashamed for not helping her when I had the chance, for letting the Capitol kill her friend, and then turn her into an Avox. Just like watching the Games.

I kick off my shoes and then crawl into bed without taking my clothes off. The shivering hasn't stopped. I wonder if the girl even remembers me, but I sure she does. You don't forget the face of the person who was your last hope. I pull the covers up to protect myself from the redheaded girl. But I can feel her eyes on me; piercing the walls and the bedding.

 _I wonder if she will enjoy watching me die._ I think.


	7. Chapter 7

My slumber is filled with disturbing imagines. The face of the redhead girl intertwined with gory images of earlier Hunger Games, with images of my mother withdrawn and unreachable, with Prim emaciated and terrified. I bolt up screaming for my father to run as the mine is blown into million bits of deadly light.

Dawn is breaking through the windows. The Capitol has a misty, haunted air about it. My head aches, I must have bitten into the side of my cheek during the night; I probe my cheek and I feel ragged flesh and taste blood. I crawl out of bed, and drag my sleep deprived body into the shower. In my haze brought on by the lack of sleep I unwitting pressed random buttons on the console, and shortly I dancing back forth as I'm being assaulted by jets of icy cold water and steaming hot water. Then I'm deluged in a lemony foam that I scrape off with a heavy bristled brush.

 _If I wasn't awake before, I am now._ I think.

After I'm dried and moisturized I prepare to dress myself. I look in the closet and I see the outfit I'm to wear to my training session: Tight black pants, and a long sleeve burgundy tunic and leather shoes. After dressing myself I tie my hair into a single braid down my back. This is the first time since the reaping that I look like myself. No fancy hair and clothes, no flaming capes. I look likecould be heading off into the woods to hunt. It calms me.

Haymitch didn't give us a time to meet, and no one has contacted me to come down; so I head out the dining hall to get something to eat. I'm relieved to see that there is food set out for me to eat, and I do not have to wait for the others to come to breakfast. A young man, an Avox, is standing next to the food trays. I ask if I can serve myself, and he waves me on. I go up to the food table three times. My first serving is eggs, sausages, batter cake covered in an orange preserves, and a slice of pale purple melon. While I'm eating my first plate the sun begins to rise over the Capitol. My second plateful was grains smothered in beef stew. My final refill is rolls and a cup of hot chocolate. I eat my rolls like I saw Peeta on the train, picking a piece off of the roll and then dipping it into the hot chocolate.

As I'm working on the rolls and hot chocolate I think back to District 12, and my family getting ready for the day; they are most likely up already. My mother making their breakfast, Prim milking Lady before heading off to school. How empty the house feels from the distance. What did they think of our fiery entrance last night? Did it give them hope, or did it remind them of the grim reality when they saw all the chariots in the City Circle last night knowing that only one of the twenty-four tributes would live?

At this time Haymitch and Peeta are coming to breakfast. They bid me a good morning, and then get to filling their plates. I'm irritated/tickled that Peeta and I are both wearing the same outfit.

 _Not to criticize Cinna, he and Portia did an amazing job with our outfits last night, but they both have to know that keeping up the twins act is going to blow up in our faces._ I think.

And then I take in Peeta's body seeing as how he is wearing the same outfit, and it's snug on him. I can see that his body is defined, if not toned. I return to my rolls in front of me. I also remember my deal with Haymitch about not speaking out against my stylist wishes. If it was anybody else besides Cinna, I might be willing to tell Haymitch to shove it. Then I remember what this meeting is about, and I get nervous. There will be three days of training with the tributes; culminating in a private session with the Gamemakers on the final day. Meeting the tributes face-to-face for the first time makes me queasy. I eye the roll in my hands that I keep turning end over end, but my appetite is gone.

After Haymitch finishes several platters of stew, he pulls out his flask and takes a long pull from the container.

 _Nothing like that early morning shot to get your day started right._ I think.

"Are you okay?" Peeta whispers in my ear, the concern evident in his voice.

His breath tickles my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Ask me later." I whisper back.

"Let's get down to business, shall we." Haymitch says, his elbows leaning on the table. "Top of the list: training. If you would like I can coach you separately."

I share a look with Peeta, and then we look back to Haymitch.

"Why would you coach us separately? I ask.

"In case one of you has a secret skill you don't want the other to know about." Haymitch says.

"I don't have any secret skills. I know yours right? I mean I've eaten your squirrels." Peeta says.

It never crossed my mind that Peeta has eaten the squirrels that I have shot. I always thought the baker had kept those to himself. On top of that they had the money to buy prime cuts from the butcher like beef, and chicken.

"You can coach us together." I say, and Peeta nods.

"What can the two of you do? Let me know what I'm working with." Haymitch says.

"I really can't do anything." Peeta says. "Well unless you count baking bread."

I give Peeta a sideways look, and from the look he gives me I know something is off.

"I'm sorry, I don't. Katniss I know you're handy with a knife." Haymitch says to me.

"Not really, but I can hunt." I say. "With a bow and arrow."

"And you're good at it?" Haymitch asks.

I have to think about it. I put food on the table for the past four years, which was no small task. I'm a good shot, not as good as my father; who had more practice. I'm a better shot than Gale because of my practice, but he's excellent when it comes to traps and snares.

"I'm all right." I say.

"She's excellent." Peeta says. "My father buys her squirrels all the time. He talks about how she never hits the body. Every single one is through the eye. Same thing with the rabbits she sells to the butcher. She can even bring down a deer."

 _Wait minute? What?_ I think, looking at Peeta in my peripheral vision.

I'm taken back by Peeta's assessment of my skills. First that he's notice. Second that he's talking me up.

 _I have a bad feeling about where this conversation is heading._ I think.

"What are you doing?" I ask suspiciously.

"What are you doing? If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of." Peeta says.

I don't know why, but for some reason this rubs me the wrong way.

"What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour." I snap at Peeta. "Tell him that. That's not nothing."

"Yes, and I'm sure the arena is going to be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't." He shoots back.

"He can wrestle." I say. "He took second place in the school tournament last year, only after his brother."

"How's is that going to be useful? How many times have you seen anybody wrestle somebody to death?" Peeta ask in disgust.

"There's always hand-to-hand combat. All you need to do is come up with a knife and you stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!" I say, my voice rising in anger.

 _It seems that Peeta's plan is to be a sacrificial lamb, and I won't let him do that._ I think.

"But you won't. You'll be living up a tree eating squirrels, and picking people off with your arrows. You know what my mother said when she came to say good-bye me, as if to cheer me up; she said that District 12 will finally have a winner. I then realized that she wasn't talking about me." Peeta burst out.

"Oh she meant you." I say with a wave of dismissal.

"She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.' She is." Peeta says.

That pulls me up short. Did his mother really rate me over her own son? I look Peeta in his eye, and I see the pain; I know he's telling the truth. I turn from both of them and look into my lap as I fight back the tears that are stinging my eyes. Peeta looks at me, but I keep my eyes in my lap.

 _Now I understand that bad feeling._ I think.

Suddenly I'm behind the bakery again and I feel the rain running down my back, and the hollowness in my stomach. I clear my throat in attempt to keep the tears at bay, but my voice comes out broken, and weakly like the elven year old I was, when I look back to Peeta.

"Only because somebody helped me." I say.

Peeta looks down at the roll in his hands, and I know he remembers that day, too. But he just shrugs and continues.

"People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you." Peeta says.

"Same with you." I say.

Peeta rolls his eyes at Haymitch. "She has no idea. The effect she has on people." Peeta says, as he runs his fingernails along the wood grain in the table, refusing to look at me.

What's that supposed to mean? People help me? When we're dying of starvation nobody helped me! No one except Peeta. Once I had something to barter with things changed. I'm a tough trader; or am I? What effect do I have? I think back to some of the trades I made. Maybe a few of the merchants were generous in their trades, but I attributed that to their long-standing relationship with my father. Besides my game is first class. No one pities me! I glower at the roll in my hands.

After about a minute of this Haymitch speaks up. "Well, well. Katniss there might not be a bow and arrows in the arena, but show the Gamemakers what you can do during your private session. Until then steer clear of archery." Haymitch says. "Are you any good at trapping?"

"I know a few basic traps." I mutter, my argument with Peeta left me drained emotional.

"That will be significant in terms of food." Haymitch says, but I'm no longer listening. "And Peeta she's right; never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Center there will be weights, but don't show how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The same goes for both of you; go to group training, but learn a new skill. Throw a spear, swing a mace; learn how to tie a decent knot. Save showing what your best at until your private session. Are we clear?" Haymitch asks.

Peeta and I nod our heads.

"One last thing. In public you will be by each other's side every minute." Haymitch says.

Both Peeta and I are about to object, but Haymitch slams his hand on the table. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I say! You will be together, and you will appear amiable to each other! Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."

I bite my lip, and then stalk back to my room. I make sure Peeta hears me slam my door; albeit, I do it out sadness as opposed to be angry. I sit on the bed hating Haymitch, hating Peeta for having total disregard for his own life, and myself for mentioning that day in the rain. It's a joke? Peeta and I going along; pretending to be friends!

 _I don't want to pretend._ I think, and the tears return in force.

If I have to listen Peeta say that he has nothing to offer to the team one more time, I'm going to scream. I'm guess we objected to the plan because we didn't want to put any stress on our burgeoning relationship.

 _Did I just say relationship? That's a new concept._ I think.

Maybe Haymitch isn't wrong. Maybe building the friendship will strength the bond we just forge last night. It's weird that we were talking each other up to Haymitch like we did. I hear Peeta's voice in my head. _She has no idea. The effect she has on people._ Did he mean that in a derogatory manner? But a tiny part of me wonders, _hopes even_. I think, that he meant it as a compliment. That he meant that I was appealing in some way. It's even weirder that we have been keeping tabs on each other. How Peeta has paid attention to my hunting. I'm not oblivious to Peeta as I imagined, either. The flour. The wrestling.

 _The boy with the bread has been on my radar for quite some time._ I think.

It's almost ten, so I brush teeth smooth my hair out, and for good measures I splash my face with water to aid in hiding the tears that were building up. Anger and sadness had blocked out the nervousness of meeting the other tributes. Now I can feel my anxiety rising within me. By the time I meet Effie and Peeta at the elevator I'm biting my nails. I stop at once.

The actual training room is below the ground level of our building. With these elevators it takes us less than a minute. The doors open into an enormous gymnasium filled with various weapons and obstacle courses. Although it's not ten, we're the last ones to arrive. The other tributes are gathered around in a tense circle. They have cloth squares with the number of their district pin on their back. While some one pins the number 12 on my back, I do a quick assessment. Peeta and I are the only ones dressed alike.

"Are you okay?" Peeta asks again, as we're walking towards the other tributes.

"Ask me when we have free time tonight." I say, giving him a look that says _I will answer it then_.

As we join the circle, the head trainer, a tall athletic woman named Atala, steps up and explains the training schedule. Experts at each skill will remain at their stations. We are free to roam from station to station. Some stations teach survival skills, others teach fighting techniques. We are forbidden from engaging any tributes in active combat: whether training or sparring; there are assistants for that.

When Atala begins to run down the list of stations, I take my first look at the rest of the tributes; it's the first time we are on level ground, and dressed in plain clothes. My heart sinks when I realize all the boys, and half of the girls are all bigger than me. Even though many of these tributes haven't been properly fed; you can see it in their bones, their skin, even the hollowed look in their eyes. I may be smaller naturally, but my family's resourcefulness has given me an edge in that area. The long hours hunting and foraging had given me a healthier body than most of those I see around me.

Except for those from wealthier districts, who had the resources to train for this very moment. The tributes from 1, 2, and 4 traditionally have this look about them. It's technically against regulations to train tributes for the Games, but it happens every year. In District 12 we call them Career Tributes, or just Careers. And like it or not, the winner will most likely be one of them.

The slight advantage we had coming into today, our fiery entrance last night, has all but vanished in the face of the competition. The other tributes were jealous, not because we were amazing, because our stylist were. I see nothing but contempt in their eyes.

 _Thank God they can't attack us now, or we'd be dead._ I think.

Each of the Careers easily have fifty to a hundred pound on me. When Atala cuts us lose they head for the deadliest looking weapons and wield them with ease. I almost jump out of my skin when Peeta comes up behind and nudges my arm; sticking together as per Haymitch's instructions

"What should we do?" Peeta asks with a sober look on his face.

I watch as the Careers showing off their skill with the weapons with ease; whereas, other tributes with no experience are wielding those same weapons poorly.

"I guess we try our hand at tying knots." I say.

"Right you are." Peeta says.

We head over to the station that teaches knot tying, and the trainer seems happy to have students. It seems that learning to tie knots isn't a big hit in the Games. When the trainer realizes I know a thing or two about snares, he teaches us a trap that can leave a human competitor dangling by their leg. We stay at the station for an hour until we both master it. From there we move onto camouflage station, but I tease Peeta, attempting to appear friendly per Haymitch's instructions. Peeta, not understanding were this was going, bites hook, line, and sinker. And before long we find a rhythm, and bantering like old friends.

 _He's a natural._ I think.

We're at the camouflage station and I see that Peeta is really enjoying himself. Peeta mixes mud, clay and berry juice on his skin weaving vines and leaves into his disguise. The trainer is enthusiastic with Peeta's skill.

"I do the cakes." Peeta admits.

"Cakes." I say distract by the boy from Distract 2 who throws a spear from fifteen feet away hitting the dummy through the heart. "What cakes?"

"At home." Peeta's says.

He means the ones on display in the bakery window. Fancy cakes with pretty designs and flowers painted in the frosting. They're for birthdays, and New Year's Day. When we're in the square, Prim always drags me over to admire them; although, we could never afford them. There isn't much beauty in District 12, so who am I to deny her this.

I look more critically at his design. The alternating patterns of light and dark, like the change in seasons.

 _How did he learn that? Did he figure that out by watching the old apple tree? I doubt he has ever been outside the fence._ I think.

I take it all in- the inaccessible cakes, Peeta's ability level, and the camouflage expert's praise- and it annoys me.

 _Insert tease in 3-2-1._ I think.

"It's lovely. Only if you could frost somebody to death." I say, holding back a laugh.

"Don't be so superior. You never know what you will find in the arena. It could be a gigantic cake-"

"I say we move on." I say cutting Peeta off.

Peeta stops in mid reply, and then looks up at me. I give a sly grin, and then he playfully glares back at me.

Before we move on, I see the other tributes glaring at us again; our camaraderie, and banter is starting to get under their skin. So the next three days passes with Peeta and I moving from station to station learning their skills; we learn to build a fire, knife throwing, and how to make a shelter. Despite Haymitch's instructions to appear mediocre, Peeta excels in hand-to-hand combat, and I sweep the edible plants test without blinking an eye.

"And who said that hand-to-hand combat skills would be useless?" I ask teasing Peeta.

I can see the look in his eye that he want to do something _personal_ ; like give me a hug or a kiss or both, but we both agreed that the intimate aspect of our relationship; _there's that word again_. I think, were off limits in public. So instead Peeta shooed me onto the next station. We steer clear of archery, and weightlifting.

The Gamemakers come out early on the first day to watch us. Twenty or so men and women sitting in the elevated standing in the training room. Both taking notes and walking around watching us, or dining at the feast that was set out for them; ignoring us completely. But they do watch us; specifically District 12. I have looked up to them contently watching me. They consult with our trainers when we're at lunch.

The first night after training finds me and Peeta alone lying on his bed. I grabbed an ice pack because it looked like he might have tweak his shoulder working with one of the assistants. After Peeta gets the pack situated on his right shoulder I snuggle into his left side, and we just lay there for a time. I trace a finger across the contours of his body.

"Earlier I asked if you were okay." Peeta says all of a sudden, and out of the blue.

"What do you want to know?" I ask.

"Did you sleep well last night?" Peeta asks.

"No." I say.

"Why not?" Peeta asks.

 _This is new territory._ I think. _I was never this open with Gale, and it frightens me. I guess my mother and father had moments like this._

"Katniss." Peeta says softly, as if he were trying to coax a child to trust him.

"Last night my sleep was plagued by nightmares." I say.

"What were they about? Peeta asked, looking at me.

"They were about the Avox girl, scenes from earlier Hunger Games. Also there were scenes when I was younger and growing up; about my mother, my sister, and my dead father." I say, looking back at him.

I start to tear up because I know what's coming next. I'm going to have to admit that my feelings run much deeper than what they truly are. That Peeta's spectacle this morning during breakfast hurt me a lot more than I cared to admit too.

 _To give voice to these feeling days before the Games almost breaks me, too._ I think.

"Our argument over breakfast affected you much more deeply than you let on. I saw the tears before you mention the day I gave you the bread, and I could hear the pain in your voice. But if we're going to make it through this we have to give Haymitch something to work with." Peeta says.

In one fluid motion I go from being cradled at Peeta's side to sitting on top of him; straddling his waist.

"And who gave you the right to throw your life away like it doesn't matter, or that nobody cares about you?" I ask quietly; with a calm fury burning in my chest, and tears streaming down my face.

Peeta was taken back on two fronts; one was because of the way I was sitting on his waist. That was a new position for the both of us. And the second was because he now understands why I slammed the door earlier, and why I was fighting back tears during breakfast. Peeta reaches up and pulls me into him; letting me cry the tears. Seeing my tears and understanding the pain he had cause me, Peeta shed a few tears himself.

"I'm sorry." He whispered into my ear; his breath sending another shiver down my spine.

After a while I finally stop crying, and we kiss. Then we start making out; opening our mouths between kisses so we can breathe. I pull away from Peeta to speak.

"I want you to remember that the only opinion about your life that should matter is mine; not your mother's or the Capitol's." I say. "I remember the black eye that your mother gave you for burning the bread that you gave to me."

Peeta nods his acceptance of my decision. I lean in for another kiss, when Peeta catches me by surprise. He traps my left side and pulls me into a roll that I pretty certain he learned when while wrestling. I try to keep my voice down, but I let out a squeal. I go from straddling Peeta to him lying in between legs. I wrap my legs around his waist, and pull him into me.

"It seems that you have been watching me wrestle." Peeta teases.

I don't answer; I just pull Peeta in for another kiss. After a time we fall asleep on our sides, chest to chest; with our arms wrapped around each other. I wake up just before dawn to Peeta subconsciously kissing my forehead. I slip back to my room, but not before kissing Peeta good morning. Peeta starts to stir; he opens his eyes to see me slip out the door back to my room. I get a shower and then make my way out to the dining room.

Breakfast and dinner are served on our floor, but lunch is served in a dining room off the gymnasium; the food is arrange on carts around the room and you feed yourself. The Careers all sit at one table acting rowdy and getting loud, ignoring the rest of us. The rest of the tributes are spread out and eating by themselves. Only Peeta and I are sitting together, per Haymitch's instructions; but to be honest neither us of care about Haymitch's orders anymore. Because of our talk last night, we are moving as a single fluid unit; which pisses the Careers off to no end. Peeta empties the bread basket, but he points out that the Capitol took the time to include the types of bread from the districts, along with the refined breads from the Capitol also. The fish-shaped loaf tinted green from District 4. The crescent moon roll dotted with seeds from District 11. Even though there made from the same stuff, it looks more appetizing then the drop biscuits back home.

"And there you have." Peeta says, scooping bread back into the basket.

"You certainly know a lot." I say with a smile.

"Only about bread." Peeta says. "Okay laugh as if I said something funny."

We both give a convincing laugh, my practice at convincing the crowd becoming more credible after a day interacting with Peeta, and we ignore the glance from the rest of the tributes. If we hadn't formed that bond, or had this been anybody else besides Peeta, following Haymitch's orders would have been taxing. But Peeta and I have grown closer since our wrestling/make-out session last night; alas, orders are orders.

"All right I'll keep smiling pleasantly while you keep talking." Peeta says.

"Did ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear?" I ask.

"No, but it sounds _f_ ascinating." Peeta says with a smile.

The emphasis that he put on the f in fascinating cause me to laugh, so I playfully glared back him; to which he just smiled back at me. I tell, with animated features, the true story of how I challenged a black bear for rights to a bee hive. Peeta laughs, and ask question right on cue.

 _He's definitely better at this than me, but I'm finding my way._ I think.

After lunch we find ourselves throwing spears again, but Peeta whispers.

"I think we have a shadow."

I throw my spear which I'm not too bad at, if I don't have to throw it too far; I turn to see the girl from District 11. She's the twelve year old that reminded of Prim in stature. Up close she looks like she's ten. She has dark brown eyes, and soft brown skin. She stands tilted on her toes with her arms slightly extended; as it to take flight at the slightest sound. It's impossible not to think of a bird.

"I think her name is Rue." He says softly.

I bite my lip. Rue is the name of a flower that grows in the Meadow. Rue and Primrose; neither of them could tip the scale at seventy pounds soaking wet.

"What can we do about it?" I ask.

"Nothing we can do about it; I'm just trying to make conversation anyways." Peeta says.

I'm dumbfounded by Peeta's response.

"Jerk." I say, in a playful manner; it's now Peeta's turn to look dumbfounded.

We both share a laugh and go about our business. Now that I know she is there, Rue slips up and joins us at different stations. Like me, Rue's clever with plants, climbs swiftly, and has good aim. Rue can hit the target every time with a slingshot; albeit, a slingshot isn't going to cut it against a 220-pound male with a sword.

Back on the District 12 floor; Effie and Haymitch grill us over breakfast and dinner. They want know what we're doing, how we're doing it, and who's paying attention. Cinna and Portia aren't present, so there is no one to add sanity to the meals. Not that Effie and Haymitch are fighting anymore; on the contrary, they seemed to be of one mind. Giving us endless advice, and whipping us into shape. Peeta is more patient, but I become fed up and surly.

"Somebody needs to get Haymitch a drink." Peeta says, when we escape to his bedroom after dinner the second night.

I make the sound between a snort and a laugh, and we bother laugh even harder at my reaction than Peeta's joke. We fall into a comfortable silence, which we occasional break with bouts of kissing. At one o'clock in the morning I kiss Peeta good night, and then head back to my room.

After lunch on the third day they start to call us out for our private session with the Gamemakers. District by district, beginning with the boys first. We linger in the dining room, seeing as there is nowhere else to go. As the room empties out we cut back on the banter; and then when Rue leaves, we sit in silence until Peeta is call. Peeta is called away, so he rises and starts to walk away; but not before I do two things.

"Peeta." I say.

Peeta looks back at me to see that I'm holding my hand out palm up. Peeta rest his hand in mine, and I fold his fingers into my hand so I can kiss his hand. He's taken back by my affection, and before he can comment I speak up.

"Remember what Haymitch said about throwing weights." I say, as if to wish him good luck.

"Thanks, I will." Peeta says. "And you… shoot straight."

And with that Peeta takes his leave. I think about Peeta and lifting, or throwing the weights around; if I lose I want Peeta to win, that way Prim and mother will be taken care of. Fifteen minutes later they call my name. I smooth my hair out, and set my shoulders back.

 _Oh crap!_ I think upon entering the gymnasium.

I knew the moment I entered I was in trouble. The Gamemakers have been here to long, and are bored from sitting through twenty-three other demonstrations.

 _No offense Peeta._ I think.

They are bored, probably had too much to drink, and want nothing more than to go home. I've come this far, might as well go the rest of the way. I walk over to the archery station.

 _The weapon of my salvation. I've been dying to get my hands of this thing for the past three days._ I think.

There are bows made of wood, plastic, and a material I can't even begin to name. Arrows with feathers cut in uniform lines. I choose a bow and sling a quiver of arrows over my shoulder. The targets on the current range have limit view, so I head to the range for knife throwing. As I go to shoot my first arrow I know something is wrong. The string is tighter compared to the one back home; the arrows are too rigid. I miss the dummy by a couple of inches, and lose what little attention I had been commanding. I head back to the archery range took a few more shots to get the feel for the weapon. When I find my rhythm I try again, heading back to the center of the gymnasium and hit the dummy in the bulls-eye. I then hit the rope that's holding the sandbag for boxing; the bag splits open upon making contact with the ground. Without missing a beat I do a forward shoulder roll, and then bracing on one knee after coming out of the roll, and hit one of the hanging lights on the ceiling; causing sparks to fly out of the fixture.

It was the best shooting I have ever done. I turn back to the Gamemakers, and a few nod their heads in approval; while the rest are fixated on the hog roast that was brought out moments ago.

Suddenly I'm furious. My life is on the line, and they don't have the decency to pay attention to me. I'm being up staged by a dead pig. My heart starts to pound, and my face is burning. Without thinking I pull an arrow out of the quiver and aim it in the direction of the Gamemakers, and let it fly. The next thing I hear is the Gamemakers gasp in shock. I hit the apple out of the pig's mouth, pinning it the wall behind them. They turn and stare at me in awe, and shocked amazement.

"Thank you. For your consideration." I say.

I give a bow, and then discard my bow and arrows next to the weapons station. I leave the room without being formally dismissed.


	8. Chapter 8

As I stride to towards the elevator, I brush the Avox guarding the elevator out of the way. I punch the number for my floor, and watch the doors closes; and the elevator shoots up to my floor. By the time I reach my floor the gravity of what I did hits me, and tears are streaming down my face. When the elevator opens on my floor I bolt to my room. I hear the others call my name, but I don't stop. I run to my room shut the door. I think about locking the door; but knowing Peeta, he will come to me. So I leave the door unlocked. The thought of Peeta coming to me, comforting me is appealing; desirable even. I throw myself onto my bed, and I start sobbing.

Now I've done it! I ruined everything! If I even stood a ghost of a chance, it vanished when I shot that arrow at the Gamemakers. What will they do to me now? Arrest me? Execute me? Cut out my tongue and turn me into an Avox; making me wait on future generations of tributes. What was I think shooting at the Gamemakers? Of course, I wasn't; I was shooting at the apple because I was so angry over being ignored. If I wanted to shoot them, _they'd_ be dead.

Oh what does it matter, it's not I was going to win the Games anyways. So what does it matter what they do to me? What scares me is what they might do to me mother and Prim. How might they suffer because of my impulsiveness? Would they take their few belongs, send my mother to prison, and Prim to a community home; or would they kill them outright. They wouldn't kill them, would they? Why not? What do they care?

While I'm rambling on in my head I feel that sensation in my heart again. When I open my eyes I see, through tears, that Peeta had come in and pulled me into his embrace; caressing my hair. He says nothing; just content with holding me and letting me cry. So I continue with my musing as I continue to cry myself out.

 _I should've stayed and apologized; or even laughed, like it was a big joke. They might have been lenient with me. Instead I stalked out of that place in the most disrespectful manner._ I think.

Effie and Haymitch come by to check on me, but Peeta sends them away. It takes me an hour to cry myself out. Then I just crawl into Peeta's lap and watch the sun set over the artificial candy Capitol.

"Thank you." I whisper weakly.

Peeta just nods, kissing my forehead; I close my eyes as he does.

I expect guards to come and arrest me, but as time passes it seems less likely they are coming. If the Gamemakers wanted to punish me they can do it publicly. Wait until I'm in the arena and then sic some wild, and starving animal on me. To top it off there won't be a bow and arrow in the arena to defend myself with.

But first they'll give me a score so low that nobody in their right mind will want to sponsor me. That's what will happen tonight. Seeing as how the training isn't televised, the Gamemakers announce a score for each tribute. It gives the audience a starting place to begin the betting, and it stays that way throughout the Games. The scores ranges from one to twelve; one being irredeemably bad and twelve unattainably high; signifies the promise of a tribute. The number doesn't mean anything; just an indication of the potential the tribute showed in training. Ironically enough, high-scoring tributes are usually the ones to go down first. I was hoping my shooting would net me a six, or a seven at best; it would help my chances of securing at least one sponsor. But now I guaranteed to get the lowest score of the twenty-four tributes. If I can't get any sponsors, my odds of staying alive will drop to zero.

When Effie comes to call us to dinner, if figured I might as well go. I can't hide what I did forever; not only that, the scores are going to be televised live to the country. I kiss Peeta, and then extricate myself from his embrace, missing the contact of his warm skin; I head into the bathroom to clean up. I'm still red and splotchy. I walk out of the bathroom to see Peeta smiling at me.

"What?" I ask.

"For you to cry that long, and that hard you had to have done something that was either wildly inappropriate, or wickedly amazing." Peeta says "I can't wait to hear the story."

Peeta's attempt to cheer me up work because I cracked a smile and respond.

"Whatever." I say exasperated. "Let's get down to dinner."

We show up to dinner to see that the stylist are present also, and I wish they hadn't. Knowing that I could have single-handily thrown away all their hard work when I shot that arrow at the Gamemakers. The adults are engaged in small talk about the weather forecast, so I ignore them and pay attention to my meal; which is fish stew. It's salty, reminding me of my tears. Then as they are serving the main course, Haymitch finally acknowledges us.

"Enough small talk, how bad were you two today?" Haymitch asked.

Peeta volunteers to go first, I still don't have the heart to tell them how badly I screwed up.

"I'm not sure that it mattered. By the time I showed up no one bothered to look at me; they were all busy singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So I threw around some heavy objects and they told me I could leave." Peeta said.

The fact that they ignored Peeta makes my blood to start simmering, again. _I know they have been there all day, but please have the decency to finish the job you were hired to do._ I think.

"And you Katniss." Haymitch says.

I hear a light thump next to me. In my peripheral vision I see that Peeta had rest an elbow on table, and his chin is resting in a cupped hand; eagerly awaiting my story. His actions don't go unnoticed; Cinna raise an eyebrow at the two of us.

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers." I say.

Peeta snickers, and the adults stare at me in horror; except for Haymitch because his facial expression is one of being.

 _Impressed?_ I think.

"You what?!" Effie exclaimed. The horror in her voice confirms my worst suspicions.

"I shot an arrow at them; more appropriately, I shot an arrow in their general direction. It's like Peeta said they were ignoring me and I lost my head. I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig's mouth." I say defiantly.

"What did they say?" Cinna asks carefully.

"Nothing. Well, technically, I didn't hang around long enough to find out." I say.

"You left?" Peeta asks, in shocked amazement.

"Without being formally dismissed?" Effie gasps.

"Yeah, I did." I say nonchalantly.

I know I promised Prim I would win, but now I feel like a ton of coal has been dropped on. Next thing I see takes me by surprise. Haymitch gives me thumbs up.

"Nice shooting, sweetheart." Haymitch says.

Needless to say I dumbfounded by this, but its short live because Peeta leans in and whispers.

"Like I said wickedly amazing."

"Shut up." I whisper back, but I can't stop the stop the snicker that escaped. "Do you think they will arrest me?"

"I doubt it. It would be a pain to replace you this late in the game." Haymitch says.

"What about my family? Do you think they will punish them?" I ask.

"What for? For it to be worthwhile, or for it effectively affect the population they would have to reveal what you did. But seeing as how it's a secret they'll just let it slide." Haymitch says. "They most likely make your life a living hell in the arena."

"That is already promised." Peeta said.

"True enough." Haymitch says.

Haymitch picks up a pork chop with his hand and eats it; which earns him a glare from Effie. Haymitch, with the help of Peeta, actually cheered me up enough to put the incident behind me. Haymitch starts laughing.

"What were their faces like?" Haymitch asks.

I feel the corners of my mouth creep up into a smile as I begin to explain the incident.

"Shocked. Terrified. Uh, some of them looked utterly ridiculous." I say. I then remember an image from this afternoon. "One of them fell over backwards into a punch bowl."

Everybody starts laugh, except for Effie who's trying hard to suppress a smile.

"What did you say before you left?" Haymitch ask, trying to hold his laugh back.

"Thank you for your consideration." I say, attempting to stifle a laugh.

Both Peeta and Haymitch get a laugh out of that line.

"I'll probably get a bad score." I say.

"People only pay attention to good scores, the bad or mediocre scores are usually ignored. For all they know they think you wanted to get a low score to hide what you're truly capable of." Portia says.

"I hope that's how people interpret the four I will get." Peeta say. I turn me head slowly glaring at Peeta. "If that. Really, what's so impressive about somebody who picks up a heavy object and throws it a couple of yards? One almost landed on my foot."

I try to stop a snicker from escaping, but I failed.

"Shut up." Peeta muttered to me.

After dinner we move into the sitting room to watch the televised scores. They show the picture of the tribute, and then flash the score. The Career tributes pull a score ranging between eight and ten, naturally. The rest of the tributes except for Rue and Thresh pull a five; Rue pulls a seven, and Thresh pulls a 10. I have no idea what she show the Gamemakers, but because of her tiny size they had to be truly impressed. District 12 comes up, and to everybody's surprise, including Peeta's and mine, Peeta pulls an eight; so some of the Gamemakers had to have been watching. I dig my nails in my palm, and my heart has practically climbed into my throat. Then they're flashing the number elven on the screen. Effie lets out a squeal, and everybody was slapping me on the back, cheering for me, and congratulating me. But a part of me is wondering if I did a good thing, or is this another nail in a coffin that has been building for me since the reaping.

 _The Gamemakers are impressed with my show, but what about the Careers? That has to leave a bad taste in their mouths._ I think.

"How is this possible, I though the Gamemakers hated me?" I ask Haymitch.

"I guess the loved your temper. They have a show to put on; they need players with some fire to make things interesting." Haymitch says.

Cinna put and arm around me and says. "Katniss, the girl who was on fire." And then he gives me a hug. "Wait until you see your interview dress." Cinna says.

"More flames?" I ask.

"Of a sorts." Cinna says.

Peeta and I congratulate each other, but I wink at him. Peeta just nods his understanding. After the adult all go to bed, both Peeta and I sneak up to the roof. We make-out, and then get lost in each other's company. We wind up lying on ground and I'm tucked under Peeta's right arm. Just being here with Peeta is the best thing that ever happened to me.

"What was that about you getting a 4?" I ask looking Peeta in his eyes.

"I wasn't expecting to pull an 8." Peeta says.

"Yet, given the fact that you are well built and handled the weights with what, one hand?" I ask.

"Yeah." Peeta says.

"It's impressive to see. What was the maximum weight you lift?" I ask.

"I think I topped out at about 95 pounds." Peeta says.

"That's amazing!" I exclaimed gleefully, giving Peeta another kiss. "Don't sell yourself short!"

"Alright." Peeta says, with a smile on his face.

I settle down, and go back to tracing the contours of his body. I wouldn't trade our time for anything, but I wonder just for a moment what would have happened if Prim wouldn't have been reaped. It's going on Saturday so I would be home and getting ready to go hunting with Gale the following day. I think back to the time met him in the woods.

I was checking out a snare he made, and there were spiteful remarks traded back and forth. It was a rocky start for the two of us, but we made it and were able to supply our families with food. I snicker because I know that if Gale would have been reaped, or volunteered, then these past three days here would have played out completely different. In hindsight I'm glad Gale didn't get picked, or volunteered because my family wouldn't be able to get the meat, or herbs that they needed. And I'm pretty sure these past three days would have been a lot more taxing because I'm not drawn to Gale like I am to Peeta. I wrap a leg around one of Peeta's leg, which gets his attention. We kiss some more, before heading back down to get some rest. Though I try to get some rest, it's in vain. Tomorrow the interviews will be televised live, which I'm nervous about. I have to sit on the platform with Caesar for three minutes, and I have to talk about myself.

 _I'm no good at talking- wait a minute._ I think.

I think back since we started training. Peeta and I have a bond that is stronger than mine with Gale, but I'm won't be playing the weakling, I wouldn't do that to Peeta; although if I go back to the opening ceremonies, and how I used Peeta's strength to play the crowd. Almost as if I'm vulnerable. I have formed a bond with Peeta like I did with Gale; _except this bond comes with better benefits._ I think, giggling; but this bond is more about protection as opposed to divide and conquer. I replay the conversation in my head that we had over breakfast the first day of training. I remember saying that if was to get jumped I was as good as dead. I'm not weak, I'm capable of taking care of myself, but I do need extra protection from people like the Careers; which I'm sure Peeta would provide if it was ever needed; all a sudden I feel like one of those girls in school fawning over Gale, but for Peeta instead. I think I know how I'm going to work my interview; the vulnerable country girl in the big city.

 _Or something like that._ I think.

Morning comes too quickly for me. I get into the shower, but without a repeat of last time. As I'm brushing my hair out, Effie knocks on the door and talk about how it's going to be a big day.

 _Effie seems extra chipper this morning._ I think.

As I'm coming down to eat breakfast, I see Haymitch, Effie and Peeta gathered in a circle at one end of the table speaking I hushed tones.

 _What's that all about?_ I think.

I was going to ask what they were discussing, but the hunger wins out. I fill a plate with food, and then go join my team at the table. I'm halfway through my meal when I realize that they have stopped talking. I take a drink of orange juice to clear my mouth.

"So what's the play? You coaching us on the interviews?" I ask.

"That's the plan." Haymitch says.

I suddenly get that gut feeling that they're about to deliver bad news.

"I can eat and listen at the same time." I say, trying to mask the caution in my voice.

 _Peeta may be able to improvise on the spot, but I have many years at covering and suppressing my emotions, somewhat._ I think.

"Well there has been a change in plans. About our approach." Haymitch says.

"Oh yeah. What's that?" I ask. Last I knew that our course of action was to appear mediocre in front of the other tributes.

"Peeta has asked to be coached separately." Haymitch says.

 _Oh really._ I think, as I scratch my forehead.

 _A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but the full section with Gale didn't fit._


	9. Chapter 9

Betrayal is the first word that comes to mind when I hear that Peeta wants to be coached separately, but I let it slide. I don't know what Peeta has in store, but I thinks it's time to operate as two separate individual people, instead as one whole. And then I think of all that has happened between me and Peeta, so I give him a break. My feelings are still raw about the sudden split, but I move on.

"Alright. What's the plan?" I ask.

"You will have four hours with Effie for presentation, and four hours with me for content." Haymitch says. "Katniss, you will start with Effie."

I'm not exactly sure what Effie has to teach me that will last four hours, but she has me working down to the wire. We head up to my room where Effie has me put on a full-length gown and high-heeled shoes. The shoes are the worst part; unsteadily, walking around on the balls of my feet. How Effie does this full-time is beyond me, but if she can do it I'm determined to do it myself. The dress poses another problem it gets tangled up in my shoes. I go to pull my dress up, and Effie swoops in like a hawk to smack my hands.

"Not above the ankle." Effie says.

When I finally conquer walking, I move onto sitting posture. According to Effie I tend to duck my head.

 _Who knew?_ I think.

From there we move on to eye contact, hand gestures, and smiling. Smiling is mostly about more smiling. Effie makes me practice a hundred banal phrases: beginning with a smile, a smile in the middle, and then smiling at the end. By lunch my muscles are twitching from over use.

"That's the best I can do." Effie says with a sigh. "Just remember you want the audience to like."

That last part struck a chord, but I will save it for later.

"Why do you think the audience won't like me?" I ask.

"Not if you're glaring at them all the time. Why don't you save that for the arena? Tonight, relax and imagine that you're among friends." Effie says.

"Except my friends wouldn't be betting how long I will last, and how many people I will kill." I say flatly.

"Well try, and pretend!" Effie snaps at me. Effie composes herself and beams at me. "See, like this. I smiling at you, even though you aggravate me."

"Yes, it feels very convincing." I say. "I going to go eat"

I kick off my heel, and march out to the dining room hiking skirt up to my thighs. Peeta and Haymitch seemed to be in a good mood, maybe content will be better. I couldn't have been more wrong. After lunch Haymitch pulls me into the sitting room, and directs me to sit on the couch. He sits on the chair across from me and stares at me for a time.

"What?" I ask.

"I'm trying to figure out how to present you." Haymitch says. "Do I present you as charming? Aloof? Fierce? So far, you're shining like a star. You volunteer for you sister. Cinna made you look unforgettable. And you have the top training score. People are intrigued, but no one knows who you are. The impression you make tomorrow will decide what you get in terms of sponsors." Haymitch says.

Having watch past interviews, there is truth to what he is saying. If you appeal to the crowd, whether by being humorous, brutality, or being eccentric you gain favor.

"What's Peeta plan, or am I not allowed to know?" I ask.

"Likable. He has a sort of self-deprecating humor to him naturally." Haymitch says. "You on the hand, when you open your mouth you come across as sullen, and hostile."

"I do not!" I say.

"Please. I don't know where you pulled that cheery, waving girl on the chariot from, but I haven't seen her since." Haymitch says.

"Because you have given me so many reason to be cheery." I counter, with a smile.

"But you don't have to please me. I'm not going to be sponsoring you. So pretend I'm the audience." Haymitch says. "Delight me."

I had an idea to propose to Haymitch, but because he is attacking me it stays buried in the deep recesses of my brain.

"Fine." I snarl at Haymitch. Haymitch takes the roll of interviewer and I try to answer the question in winning fashion, but I can't. The cheap shot that Haymitch took at me is making me mad, and that I have to answer these question. All I can think about is how unjust this is, and the Hunger Games. Why am I hopping like some trained dog for people I hate? The longer the interview goes on, the more the fury in me continues to grow; until I spiting answers at Haymitch.

"All right, enough. We have to find another angle. I asked you fifty question and not only do I know that you're hostile, but I know nothing about you, your life, you family. They want to know about you Katniss." Haymitch says.

"I don't want them to! They've already taken my future! I don't want them to know about the things that mattered to me in the past." I say.

"Then lie! Make something up!" Haymitch says.

"I'm not good at lying." I say.

"Then you better learn quickly. Because you have charm as much as a dead slug." Haymitch said.

Ouch. That hurts. Even Haymitch knows he was too harsh because he comes back in a softer tone. "How about you try to act humble." Haymitch says.

"Humble." I say.

"That you can't believe that a girl from District Twelve could have done this well. That the whole thing is more than you could have dreamed of. Talk up Cinna clothes, how the city amazes you, and how nice the people are. Gush." Haymitch says.

 _The only nice people are the ones that aren't trying to antagonizing me the entire time._ I think.

The next few hours are antagonizing. At once, we figure out I can't gush. We try to play cocky, but I'm not arrogant enough. I'm too "vulnerable" to be fierce. _Hey what about the vulnerable country girl_. I think, but Haymitch moves on to the next trait. _By all means continue to ignore me._ I think. I'm not witty. Funny. Sexy. Or mysterious.

At the end of the session I'm no one at all. Haymitch started drinking around witty, and a nasty edge has crept into his voice. "I give up sweetheart. Just answer the questions and try not to let the audience know that you openly despise them." Haymitch says.

I eat dinner in my room that night, my sessions with Haymitch and Effie have rubbed raw. I order an outrageous number of delicacies, eating myself sick; taking my anger out on Haymitch, at the Hunger Games, and every living being in the Capitol by destroying the dishes. When the girl with the red hair comes to turn down my bed, her eyes widen at the mess.

"Just leave it alone!" I yell at her. "Just. Leave it."

I hate her too, for her knowing reproachful eyes that call me coward, puppet of the Capitol both now, and then. For her, justice must finally be happening. At least my death will pay do the life of the boys. Instead of fleeing the room, the girl shuts the door and heads into the bathroom. I can hear her turn on a faucet. When she comes back out she has a wet washcloth, and washes the blood off my hands. Why is she doing this? Why am I letting her? Her kindness, after the assaults brought on by Effie and Haymitch, is too much for me to bear; I start crying.

"I should have tried to save you." I whispered, though the tears.

But she shook her head. Were we right to remain hidden? Has she already forgiven me?

"No, it was wrong." I say, the tears have started to clear.

She pointed to her lips, and then pointed to my chest. She means to tell me that had I interfered that I would be an Avox, or dead. I spend the next hour helping the red-headed girl clean the room. After all the garbage has been put in the disposal and the food cleaned up, the girl turns down my sheets, and I crawl in between the sheets like a five year old and let her tuck me in. Then she goes. I want her to stay until I fall asleep. To be there when I wake up. I want her protection, even though she never had mine.

In the morning it's not the girl, but my prep team who are standing over. My session with Effie and Haymitch are done; today belongs to Cinna. My last hope. Maybe he will me look so wonderful, nobody will care what comes out of my mouth.

The team works until late afternoon, turning my skin to glowing satin, stenciling patterns on my arms, painting flame designs on twenty perfect nails. Then Venia goes to work on my hair; weaving strands of red pattern that start at my left ear, wraps around my head, and then falls into a braid down my right shoulder. The erase my face with a layer of pale makeup and redraw my features. Huge dark eyes, full red lips, and lashes that throw off bits of light whenever I blink. They cover my skin in in a powder that makes me shimmer in gold dust. I see Cinna enter with what looks like my dress, but I can't see because it's covered.

"Close your eyes." Cinna says.

I can feel the silken inside as they slip it over my naked body, and then the weight. It has to be at least forty pounds. I clutch Octavia's hand as I step into shoes, I'm glad that they're two inches short than the ones that Effie had me practice in. There's some adjusting, and fidgeting; then silence.

"Can I open my eyes now?" I ask.

"Yes." Cinna says. "Open them."

The creature standing in front of me in the full-length mirror came from another world. Where skin shimmers, eyes flash, and they their make there dresses of jewels. Because my dress, oh my dress, is cover entire in reflective precious gems; red and yellow and white with bits of blue that accent the tips of the flame design. The slightest movement gives the impression I'm being engulfed in flames. I'm not pretty. I'm not beautiful. I'm as radiant as the sun. For a while we just stare at me.

"Oh Cinna." I whisper. "Thank you"

"Twirl for me." Cinna says.

I do a quick spin, holding out my arms, and the prep team screams in admiration. Cinna dismisses the team, and he has me walk around in the shoes, which is infinitely easier than the shoes that Effie had me wear. The dress hangs in such a way that I don't have to pull up my skirt to walk; one less thing that I have to worry.

"So, are you ready for the interview tonight?" Cinna asks.

I can see in his eyes that he has been talking to Haymitch. Then he knows how dreadful I am.

"I'm awful. Haymitch called me a dead slug. No matter what we tried, I can't be something that one of those people want me to be." I say.

Cinna was silent for a time. "Why don't you just be yourself?" He says

"I can't do that. Haymitch says that I hostile, and sullen." I say.

"Well you are… only around Haymitch." Cinna says, with a smile. "I don't find you so. The prep team adores you. You even won over the Gamemakers. Even the Capitol citizens can't stop talking about you. They admire your spirit."

I really appreciate what Cinna says, but I feel that sensation in my gut again from last night. I won the crowd, and the Gamemakers over. I look better the Career tributes.

 _Why do I get the feeling that I have been building a coffin for myself since the reaping?_ I think.

I don't argue with what Cinna says. After yesterday I even remember what I wanted to do.

"I had an idea two nights ago, but my spat with Haymitch made me forget about it." I say.

"What is it?" Cinna asks.

"A vulnerable girl from a small country town coming to the Capitol." I say.

Cinna is taken back, and thinks about what I said.

"Honesty, I think that might work." Cinna said.

"Really?" I ask.

"I don't see why it can't hurt." Cinna says. "Just imagine that when you talking, it's to a friend back home when you're answering the questions. Who's your best friend?"

"Gale." I say instantly. "But it wouldn't make any sense because he knows all of these thing."

"What about me. Would you consider me a friend?" Cinna asks.

Of all the people that I have met since coming to the Capitol, Cinna is one of my favorites. He hasn't disappointed me yet.

"Yes, but-"

"I'll be sitting on the main platform with the rest of the stylist. Look at me and answer the question as honestly as possible." Cinna says.

"Even if it's horrible?" I ask, almost assured it could be.

"Even if it's horrible." Cinna says. "You'll try?"

I nod. It's a plan, or at least a straw to grasp at.

Too soon it's time to go. The interviews take place on a stage constructed in front of the Training Center. Once I leave my room, it'll be minutes before I'm in front of the crowds, the cameras, and all of Panem. As Cinna turns the doorknob I stop him.

"Cinna…" I'm overcome with stage fright.

"Just remember, they already love you. Just be yourself." Cinna says.

We exit my room, and then head down to the elevator to meet the rest of the District 12 crowd at the elevator. Portia and her gang have been busy. Peeta looks striking in a black suit with flame accents. Although we look great together, I'm glad we aren't dressed in the same identical outfit. I want to reach out and touch Peeta, and from the look in his eyes he wants to do the same thing, but with the powder we think twice. Haymitch and Effie are fancied up for the occasion; I avoid Haymitch, but I accept Effie's compliments. Effie can be tiresome and clueless sometimes, but she isn't destructive like Haymitch.

When the elevator opens all the other tributes are lined up to take to the stage. All twenty-four of us sit in an arc. I'll be last, or second to last as the girls proceed the boys from each district. How I wish I could be first and get this whole thing out of the way? Instead I will have listen to how witty, funny, humble, fierce, and charming everybody else will be before I go up. And by the time I go up the audience will start to get bored like the Gamemakers; and I won't be able to shoot an arrow to get their attention.

Right before we're paraded on stage Haymitch comes up behind Peeta and me and growls, "You're still a happy pair. So act like it."

 _Wow, really?_ I think.

"Thanks dad." I say after Haymitch gets out of ear shot.

Peeta laughs at my joke.

"You look handsome tonight." I say.

"You look amazing." Peeta says. "To bad I can't touch you."

"I want to kiss you too, but the feelings are mutual." I say.

Just as I finishing speaking, we step out onto the stage. As I take my first step out on the stage and my breathing becomes rapid and shallow; I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples. It's a relief when I get to my chair because between the heels and my shaking legs, I feel like I'm going to fall.

 _That the last thing I need: taking a dive head long off the stage._ I think.

Although evening has fallen, the City Circle is brighter than a summer day. An elevated seating unit has been set up for prestigious guest, with the stylist commanding the front row. The cameras will turn to them when the crowd is reacting to their handiwork. A large balcony off to the right has been reserved for the Gamemakers. The Television crews had claim most of the other balconies. But the City Circle and avenues that feed into it are completely packed, standing room only. Every home, community hall around the country, every television set is turned on. There will be blackouts tonight.

Caesar Flickerman, the man who has hosted the games for the past forty years, bounds out on to stage. It's frightening because his appearance has remain virtually unchanged that entire time. His face is pale white under a layer of makeup, his suite is the same; the only thing that ever changes is his hair. Caesar changes his hair color every year; last year it was red, it was creepy because it look like he was bleeding. They do surgery in the Capitol to make people look younger and thinner. In District 12 if you see an older person you congratulate and ask them what their secret is because some many die young. A plump person is envied because they aren't scrapping by the like the majority of us, but here it's different. Wrinkles aren't desirable, and a round belly isn't a sign of success. Caesar tells a few jokes to warm the audience up, and begins the interviews.

The girl from District 1, looking provocative in a gold see-through gown as she steps up to center stage for her interview. You can tell her mentor didn't have to try hard with her for this angle: long flowing blonde hair, emerald green eye, tall body and lush- sexy all the way.

Each interview last for three minute; then the buzz goes off and it's onto the next tribute. I'll give to Caesar he pulls out all the stops to make a tribute shine. He's friendly, works to set the nervous ones at ease, laughs at lame jokes, and make a weak reply a memorable by the way he responds. I sit like a lady like Effie instructed me to, as the districts slip by. 2, 3, 4. Everyone is playing an angle of some sort. The giant boy from District 2 the ruthless killing machine. The girl from District 5 sly and elusive. I see Cinna as soon as he takes his seat, but I still can't calm down. 8, 9, 10. The crippled boy from 10 is very quiet. My palms are sweating, and jewels aren't absorbent and the skid right off if I try to wipe my hands on them. 11.

Rue, who is dressed in a gossamer gown complete with wings, flutters her way over to Caesar. The audience falls silent at the sight of the magical wisp of a tribute. Caesar is very sweet with her; complimenting her on her training score of 7. When Caesar asks what her greatest strength in the arena will, she doesn't hesitate to answer.

"I'm hard to catch." She says in a tremulous voice. "And if they can't catch me, I'm hard to kill. So don't count me out."

"I wouldn't count you out in a million years." Caesar says encouragingly.

The boy from District 11, Thresh, has dark skin like Rue but the resemblance stops there. He's one of the giants, standing at about six an half feet tall and built like an ox; he rejected an invitation from the Career tributes to join their crowd. He very solitary, he speaks to no one, kept to himself, and show very little interest in training. Even so, he score a 10 and it's not hard to imagine that he impressed the Gamemakers. He ignores Caesar's attempt at banter and answers the questions with yes or no, or just remains silent.

If only I was his size I could be hostile and sullen and everybody would be okay with it! I bet half the sponsors at least considered him. If I had any money I would bet on him, myself. And then they're calling Katniss Everdeen. Peeta gets my attention and gives me a quick wink, which I return in kind. As I walk toward the chair I feel a weight lifted off of me. Oh _Haymitch, that cheery, and wavy girl from the chariot is about to make her second appearance; watch closely now_. I think. I shake Caesar hand, and realize that my hands aren't sweaty anymore.

"So Katniss the Capitol must quite different compared to District 12. What's impressed you the most since you arrived here?" Caesar asked.

"What has impressed me the most-"

I stop in midsentence and stare at him questioningly; which throws Caesar and the crowd.

"I'm sorry was that your version of what's a nice country girl like you doing in a big city like this." I say.

I get the desired response from the crowd who laughs at Caesar and these strange turn. Caesar is dumbfounded at first, but recovers quickly.

"Maybe." Caesar says cautiously unsure of where I'm taking this.

"I bet you use that line on all the pretty girls, or was that your first time?" I ask, leaning in and fluttering my eyelashes at him.

The crowd lets out another uproar; laughing at my question. Caesar couldn't even stop the laugh that escaped his lips even if he wanted too.

"Actually that was the first time I used that line." Caesar admitted.

"Why thank you." I say, giving him a wink. "But back to the question. What has impressed me the most: I'd have to say the whole city. The tall builds, the bright colors, and the wonderful people that I have met; to be honest it's kind of overwhelming." I start off with animated features, but by the time I finish I have the air hesitation about me.

"Don't worry I'll protect you." Caesar says.

"Who says I need your help? Who says that I don't have a protector already?" I ask.

I swear I thought I could almost hear Peeta trying his hardest not to laugh, as the audience breaks out into another uproar.

"Care to share." Caesar asks.

"We country girls don't tell our secrets." I say with a sly smile.

Caesars look at the crowd and there is another booming laugh. I think I see Haymitch in the crowd staring daggers at me.

 _Who's hostile and sullen now?_ I think with a smile.

"Now Katniss." Caesar says confidently. "When you came out that the opening ceremonies, my heart actually stopped. What did you think of the costume?"

Cinna raises an eyebrow. Be honest.

"You mean after I got over my fear of being burned alive?" I ask.

This gets a big laugh out of the audience.

"Yes, start then." Caesar say.

Cinna doesn't know how much I appreciate his work. "I thought Cinna was brilliant and it was the most gorgeous costume I have ever seen and I couldn't believe I was wearing it. I can't believe I'm wearing this either." I say, as I lift my skirt up and spread it out. "I mean, look at it."

As the audience is _oohs_ and _ahs_ , I see Cinna might a small circular motion, and I know what he means. _Twirl for me._

I start spin in a circle and the reaction is immediate.

"Oh, do that again." Caesar says.

So I start spinning as I lift my hands spinning again; let the skirt fly out and the dress engulf me in flames. The audience breaks out into cheers. When I stop, I'm clutching Caesar arm.

"Don't stop!" Caesar says.

"I have to, I'm dizzy!" I say with a giggle.

Caesar wraps a protectives arm around me. "Don't worry I have you. Can't having you following in you mentor's footsteps now can we?"

Everybody is hooting as the cameras find Haymitch who is now famous for his head dive at the reaping. Haymitch waves them away good-naturedly and then points back to me.

"It's okay." Caesar reassuring the crowd. "So, how about that training score. E-le-ven. Gives a hint, what happened in there."

I glance up at the Gamemakers and bite my lip. "Um… all I can is, I think it was a first."

The cameras are right on the Gamemakers, who are chuckling and nodding.

"You're killing us." Caesar says, as if in actual pain. "Detail! Details!'

I address the balcony. "I'm not supposed to talk about it, right?"

The Gamemaker that feel over in the punch bowl shouts. "She's not!"

"Sorry." I say, looking to the crowd and shrugging. "My lips are sealed."

"Let's go back then, to the moment they called your sisters name at the reaping." Caesar says, his mood much quieter. "And you volunteered. Can you tell us about her?"

No not all of you! I could tell Cinna, I don't think I imagine sadness on his face.

"Her name is Prim. She's twelve years old. And I love her more than anything in the world." I say.

 _Though she is not the only one I love more than anything in this world, now._ I think.

You could hear a pin drop in the City Circle.

"What did she say to you? After the reaping?" Caesar asked.

Be honest. Be honest. I swallow hard. _It was so much easy when I was talking about myself._ I think. "She asked me to try really hard to win." The audience is frozen, hanging on my every word.

"And what did you say?" Caesar asked.

Instead of warmth, I feel an icy rigidity take over my body. I feel my muscle tense as they do before a kill. As I speak my voice drops and octave. "I swore that I would."

"I bet you did." Caesar said giving my hand a squeeze. The buzzer goes off. "Sorry we're out of time. Best of luck; Katniss Everdeen, tribute from District 12."

The applause continues long after I'm seated. I see Cinna who's giving me a subtle thumbs up. As Peeta is walking by he whispers. "Quite the act to follow."

"You'll think of something." I say, fluttering my eyelashes at Peeta.

I'm still in a daze for the first part of Peeta's interview. He has the crowd from the get-go, though; I can hear them laughing and shouting. He plays the baker's son angle, comparing the tributes to the bread from their districts. Then he has a funny anecdote about the perils of the Capitol showers.

"Tell me, do I smell like roses?" Peeta asks.

And then there's a whole run where they are sniffing each other that brings down the house. I'm coming back into focus when Caesar ask if Peeta has a girlfriend back home. Peeta hesitates, but then gives an unconvincing shake with his head.

I become really frightened. I know what Peeta is going to say, and when he says it I will be in big trouble. I'm not afraid that he is going to say I'm the girl he likes, or that he has feelings for me, _I appreciate his honesty._ I think; that's not the problem. I think back to everything that has occurred, including my performance tonight and I think about the picture it paints for the Career tributes. For the first time since coming to the Capitol I'm overcome with real fear. When Peeta admits his feelings for me to all of Panem, it _will be_ the final nail in my coffin. I try to regain my composure as Caesar continues.

"Handsome lad like you. There has to a special girl back home. Come on, tell us her name." Caesar says.

Peeta sighs. "Well there is this one girl I had a crush ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the day of the reaping."

 _Thank you Peeta._ I think. Peeta at least had the discretion to omit the fact that we have already developed a relationship over the past three days.

Sounds of sympathy from the crowd. Unrequited love, they can relate too.

"Does she have another fellow?" Caesar asks.

"Probably not, but a lot of boys do like her." Peeta says.

"Here's what you do. You got there out, you win this thing. And when you get home she'll have to out go with you." Caesar says. Then he turns to the crowd looking for a response which they don't hesitate to give.

"Thanks, but I don't think that's going to help me. Winning… won't help me in my case." Peeta says.

"Why ever not?" Caesar asks, mystified.

I close my eyes and let the dread wash over me, as Peeta blushes beet red and stammers. "Because… because… she came here with me."


	10. Chapter 10

_Must feign ignorance, or at least act like I didn't know!_ I think.

I feel my pulse quicken, and my breathing become rapid. I see the cameras hold on Peeta's downcast eyes as what he says sinks in. Then I can see my face, mouth open in a mix of surprise and protest, magnified on every screen as I realize; _me! He means me!_ I press my lips together and stare at the floor, hoping to conceal the emotions building up inside me. I feel tears beginning to well up in my eyes.

 _If a tear were to escape right now, the crowd would eat it up!_ I think. _But the Careers would hate me even more._

"Oh that's a piece of bad luck." Caesar says, and there's an edge of pain in his voice

The crowd murmurs it's agreement, a few have even give agonized cries. While their still screaming I clear my throat, but Peeta hears my actions.

"It's not good." Peeta agrees.

"I don't think anyone can blame you. It's hard not to fall for a girl like that." Caesar says. "She didn't know?"

"Not until now." Peeta says.

I thank God that Peeta is still selling the act that I didn't know. I thank God that I had a few days to practice my acting skills because if I didn't we both be in trouble. I allow my eyes to flicker up to the screen to see the blush on my cheeks is unmistakable.

"Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar asks the audience.

 _NO!_ I think, while the crowd was screaming its assent.

"Sorry folks, but rules are rules. Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent. We wish you the best of luck, Peeta Mellark; and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours."

 _THANK YOU CAESAR!_ I think.

The roar of the crowd is absolutely deafening. Peeta just wiped the rest us off the map with his declaration of love for me. When the audience finally settles down Peeta chokes out a quiet. "Thank you" and returns to his seat. We stand for the anthem and I have to raise my head out of require respect, but I see that both screens are dominated by both me and Peeta separated by a few feet in the viewers head, and it can never be breached. Poor tragic us. I see that Peeta is still trying to regaining his composure, while my Teflon exterior is beginning to crack.

After the anthem ends, the tributes file back into the Training Center lobby and onto the elevators. I stepped onto the elevator with Peeta and were both quiet. The crowd slows our entourage, stylists, mentor, and chaperones so we only have each other for company. The elevator stops to deposit tributes on another floor before we're alone. As the doors open on the Twelfth floor and we step off, I break down and start sobbing. It scares Peeta at first because he wasn't expecting it, but he doesn't hesitate to wrap me up in his strong embrace that I so desperately needed. I cry for a time, but then I kiss Peeta, _How I missed his lips yesterday_. I think. After we break the kiss I bury me face into his chest, wrapping my arms around his body and continue to cry. Peeta wraps one arm around my back, and the other one cradles my neck; pulling me closer to him.

The elevator opens and our whole crew is there: Effie, Haymitch, Portia, and Cinna. The group is taken back by the scene in front of them.

"Do you two have something to tell us?" Haymitch asks. "And did she just kiss you Peeta?"

"Why?" Peeta asks.

"Her lipstick had transferred to your lips." Portia said.

Peeta rubbed his lips and saw that the lipstick had transferred over, but all he did was shrug his shoulders.

"It doesn't matter what you have to tell us." Cinna said. "What's the matter Katniss?'

It takes a moment for me to settle down, but when I regain my composure Effie is standing there with a tissue. I take the tissue gratefully and blow my nose, and then I tell Peeta and the adults what cause my meltdown.

"Peeta inadvertently put the final nail in the coffin that has building for me since the day of the reaping." I say.

"How is that possible? He just cemented you two as stars." Haymitch says.

"I can see it now." I say with animated features, still wiping tears from my eyes. "The Star Crossed Lovers of District 12. So close yet so far from attaining the love that they so desperately desire."

All the adults stared at me blankly, and Peeta smirks at me.

"What?" I ask.

"And exactly how much time have you been spending with Peeta?" Haymitch asks, the rest of the adults nodding their assent of his question.

"That's beside the point." I say, with an edge in my voice.

"What's the point? That you're going to die?" Haymitch asks. "That's a given."

"Oh yeah, what exactly do you propose to enrich those last few minutes of my life when I'm in the arena? Because it better be good!" I say growling at Haymitch.

"You said it yourself Star Crossed Lovers. In a game of this magnitude it gets you sponsors; which could very well save your damn life." Haymitch says, trying to keep his anger at bay.

"How? You do realize the heat that is coming my way?" I ask, trying to dial the anger back myself."

"What does it matter? With your interview, and Peeta's you're bound to get at least a few sponsors. Where did you come up with that angle anyways? That girl was nowhere to be seen yesterday when you were working with me?" Haymitch asked.

Both Peeta and my eyes get as big as saucers, and I knew I had to come up with something; otherwise they would realize that the Star Crossed Lovers of District 12 is definitely not an act.

"I thought of it two nights ago when I was lying in bed." I say.

 _It wasn't a lie. I was lying on my bed thinking about my relationship with Peeta, and how I could use it to strength my character._ I think.

"Just like that?" Effie asks.

"Yeah, is there a problem?" I ask. "Because yesterday after my session with Haymitch I was nobody."

"No." Portia says trying to calm us down.

"Your act played right into Peeta's. The fact that the two of you didn't know what the other one was doing, was icing on the cake." Cinna said.

"But I knew what Peeta was going to say at the end." I say.

"How could you know what I was going to say because I didn't even know that Caesar was going to ask about my girlfriend?" Peeta asked.

"Because you confession of love put the final nail in my coffin that I have been building since the reaping." I say, as tears start to build back up in my eyes.

"What do you mean by the coffin you have been building?" Haymitch asked, finally getting to the heart of the issue.

"Both you and Cinna said it yourselves I'm a rising star, and what happens when you start to become famous? You make enemies in the process." I say.

"What's the picture that you have painted in your head?" Portia asked.

"I'm not the only one that has painted this picture, Portia. When Peeta said that he had crush on me, I played along with him because I was scared and knew what was coming. Let's go back to the reaping shall we. The Career tributes volunteer for honor and glory. I volunteer to protect my sister, who I love deeply more than myself. Who made the more honorable decision? Next at the opening ceremonies with the help of Peeta I was able to play the crowd for all my worth, and with the help of Portia and Cinna we stole the spotlight from all the other tributes." I say.

"How did I help? I just stood there." Peeta said dumbfounded.

"If I wasn't holding your hand I wouldn't have had the confidence to work the crowd like I did." I say softly to Peeta, not able to look at him.

Peeta waves his understanding, and for me to continue.

"Then during training Peeta and I pretended to be friends; which pissed the Career tributes off to no end." I say.

When I say pretended, I raise my eyebrows at Peeta, and he keeps his composure.

"You two actually listened to me?" Haymitch said.

"That's a problem because?" Peeta ask.

I nod my head at Peeta.

"Oh nothing." Haymitch says, floored that we actually listened to an order he gave.

Both Peeta and I roll our eyes, and I push through.

"Then I outscore the Career tributes with an eleven. Some by one point others by three." I say.

"That had to leave a bad taste in their mouths." Peeta said.

I snickered at his quip, it help to lighten the tension in the room.

"And then with my country girl act, acting all giddy and like an airhead; Peeta comes in and makes me look desirable." I say.

I give a look to Peeta that says that _I only want to be found desirable by one man_. Peeta gets the message because he starts to blush.

"Little by little your coffin was building, with Peeta hammering the final nail in about twenty minutes ago." Cinna said.

"You said you knew what he was going to say, how?" Haymitch said.

"When Caesar asked if Peeta had a girlfriend I know what he was going to say. I knew when Peeta did say it, I knew that the Career tributes would come to the same conclusion I just did, and that they would absolutely hate me. The Careers were thinking about how I made them look bad the every step of the way. I knew beyond of a shadow a doubt that I will be there number one kill in the arena. I'm public enemy number one." I say. "After the blood bath tomorrow at the Cornucopia you can bet that the Careers will be looking for me."

"At least with the Star Crossed Lovers-"

"We are not Star Crossed Lovers!" I exclaimed cutting Haymitch off

Everybody was taken back by my outburst, especially Peeta. I can see the pain in his eyes; he's thinking these past three day were an act.

"We are not Star Crossed Lovers because there is no way I would let something a fickle as fate dictate our relationship! To let the Capitol taint it and turn into lubrication for their well-oiled machine, The Hunger Games! I refuse to hand it over without a fight!" I say.

Everybody was silent for a time. And then Peeta asked.

"And if we are?"

I turn to look at Peeta I can see the look in his eyes, and I know what he is asking. He's begging me to admit the truth: that I am in love with him.

"If we are Star Crossed Lovers I would fight to the bitter end to defy my fate, and prove that our relationship can't be controlled by fate, or the Capitol." I say.

If the adults understood what I just said, that I just admitted to being in love with Peeta, they are keeping silent, but from the look in Peeta's eyes he's ready to pin me to the wall and start making out with me on the spot. Before anybody can speak up we all catch a whiff of dinner.

"Come on let's eat." Haymitch says.

We all sit down to eat, but after my scene at the elevators I can barely eat. I struggle through dinner, but I get all the food down. After dinner we watch the replay from the sitting room. My vulnerable country girl act makes a splash, but Peeta is charming and utterly winning as the boy in love. And there I am blushing and confused; made beautiful by Cinna, desirable by Peeta confession, tragic by our circumstances, and by all accounts, unforgettable.

Haymitch speaks up, but I'm not listening. I feel the tears threaten to spill over.

"Honestly, with your acts you will get a few sponsors because you played off each other so well." Haymitch says.

"Thank you, but I think I'm going turn in early. Good night everyone." I say.

I get up and make my way to my room trying to keep my body posture as natural as possible because I don't want to do anything but curl up into ball and die, but I stop to ask Haymitch a quick question.

"Any last advice?" I ask.

"Stay alive. And when the gong sounds get as far away from the Cornucopia. After that look for water." Haymitch says.

To everybody's surprise I give a slight smile. Before I leave Effie calls both Peeta and me together giving her final good-bye because tomorrow it will be Portia and Cinna seeing us off to the site of the arena. Effie and Haymitch will be going to the Gamemakers headquarters and work their magic from there. It's a teary good-bye that Effie has for us, and it threatens to draw more tears from my eyes, but I'm able to hold on to mine. After good-byes are said, I retreat to my room. As I enter my room the covers are drawn back, but the girl isn't here, and that breaks me. I begin to cry again, but I pull of my dress, and step into the shower; let the water from the shower wash my tears down the drain.

I scrape all of the paint, makeup, and beauty scents off my body. The only thing that is left on my body from the prep teams efforts are the flames on the nails. I decide to leave them on there to remind the audience who I am. Katniss, the girl who was on fire. Perhaps it will give me something to hold onto in the days to come.

I pull on a thick, fleecy nightgown and I crawl into bed. It takes me all of five seconds to realize I'll never fall asleep; which I so desperately need to do. Because every second I give into fatigue is an invitation to death.

It's no good. One hour, two, three passes and my eyelids refuse to get heavy. I can't help but wonder what terrain I will be thrown into. Desert? Swamp? A frozen wasteland? Above all, all I am hoping for is some trees, which may afford me some means of concealment, food, and shelter. The trees help spice up the Games; otherwise the games will be resolved too quickly. But what will the climate be like? What traps will the Gamemakers throw at us to liven up our slower moments? And then there are my fellow tributes….

The more anxious I am to find sleep, the more it eludes me. Finally I'm too restless to stay in bed. I pace the floor, my heart is beating too fast, my breathing is too shallow. My room feels like a prison cell. If I don't get air soon I'm going to start throwing things. I think of going to Peeta's room, _He has always had a calming effect on me._ I think; but I decide to get some fresh air instead. When I get to the door leading up to the roof I see that's ajar; like somebody forgot to shut it, but I don't question it. I just race up the stairs. I want to breathe in a lungful of fresh air, and look at the moon and sky one last night before someone starts hunting me. As soon as my feet hit the tiled surface I see his silhouette, black against the lights that shine endlessly in the Capitol. There's quite a commotion going on down there, which I couldn't hear behind the thick paneled glass in that stuffy cage of a room.

 _So I get some fresh air, and one last conversation with my lover._ I think.

When I call Peeta my lover a huge smile graces my lips. I'm only a yard away when I say. "You should be trying to get some sleep."

He jumps, but doesn't turn. "Don't want to miss the party. It's for us anyways." Peeta says.

I walk over to him, but I don't bother to look over the rail. I do; however, sit down between his legs and lean my head against his right shoulder. As if on cue, Peeta kisses me on my jaw, which cause me to smile. Peeta wraps me up in his arms, and I feel safe. Even if it's for a short while, I feel safe being in his arms.

"What's got you tossing and turning this late into the night?" Peeta asks.

"I can't stop thinking about what type of landscape we are going to be thrown into; which is useless." I say. "You?"

"Just thinking of my mortality, and what would happen if I were to die in the arena." Peeta says.

"Okay. That's not creepy and morbid." I say.

I feel Peeta's smile forming in my hair, and I can feel him laughing from his torso jostling me around.

"Why are you think about dying in the arena? You think you don't stand much of a chance?" I ask.

"No, it has nothing to do with not having a chance; I have an idea that I have be mulling over, but if I were to die in the arena I want to die as myself." He says.

 _I'm lost._ I think.

I position myself so I'm sitting in his lap and looking into his eyes.

"You want to die as yourself?" I ask.

"I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me something into something I'm not." He says.

I bite my lip. I feel inferior. While I'm ruminating over the availability of trees, Peeta has been struggling with how to maintain his identity. Purity of self. I kiss him, and rest my forehead against his.

"That's a struggle that everybody who has entered the arena has fought at one point or another, but you can't afford to think like that. I know I can't. I know what I'm fighting for, so draw your strength from mine." I say.

"How so?" He asks.

"I have my sister to think about, and we have each other. That should be reason enough to _stay alive_." I say.

Peeta snickers at our mentor's advice, and it was his turn to initiate the kiss. We make out, and I can almost feel the burden being lifted from Peeta's chest. I feel Peeta wrap his arms around my rib cage and then he starts to stand up, pulling me into him. I wrap my arms around his neck, and my legs around his waist as I let out another squeal.

"I _swear_ I feel like such a girl when I with you." I say.

"Like a vulnerable country girl?" Peeta asks.

"I like feel that whenever I'm with you; _you_ were the reason I was able to think of that angle. Like I don't have to be as strong as I usually am. I can rely on you and your strength to get me through." I say.

"Good to hear." Peeta says, smiling

I unwrap my legs from Peeta waist, and he puts me gently on the ground. The gentleness that Peeta showed as he set me on the ground brings tears to my eyes again.

"I'm scared Peeta." I say, choking on my emotions. I looked Peeta in his eyes, and weakly say. "I missed you yesterday."

Peeta kisses away my tears, and I feel safe again.

We head back down, and part ways at my room; kissing each other one last time. I'm hoping I can see Peeta one more time before we go to the arena. As fate would have I don't get to see Peeta in the morning. Before dawn Cinna comes to collect me. He gives me a simple shift to wear, and guides me to the roof. My final dressing and preparations will be done in the catacombs under the arena itself. A hovercraft appears out of nowhere, just like the day I saw the red-haired girl get taken, and a ladder drops down. I place my hands and feet on the rungs and instantly it's as if I'm frozen in place. Some current glues me to the ladder and I'm lifted safely inside. I expected to be release, but I'm still stuck. Next thing I know I see a woman wearing a white coat carrying a syringe, walking towards me.

"This is just you tracking device, Katniss. The more still you sit, the more efficient I can place the tracker." The woman said.

 _Still? I'm as freaking statue._ I think.

But that doesn't prevent me from feeling the pain as the needle inserts the tracking device beneath my skin on the inside of my arm. Now the Gamemakers will be able to track my every move in the arena. Wouldn't want to lose a tribute in the arena. As soon as the tracker is placed the woman disappears, I'm release from the ladder, and Cinna is retrieved from the roof. An Avox boy directs us to a room where breakfast has been laid out. Despite the tension in my stomach, I eat all that I can; although none of the food is really impressive. I'm so nervous I could be eating coal dust for all I know. The one thing that distracts me is the view outside; flying over the Capitol and the wilderness below. This is what a bird see. Only they are safe and free; which is the opposite of me. The ride last about a half hour before the windows darken; suggesting that we're nearing the arena. When the hovercraft lands, Cinna and I head back to the ladder; this time it leads to a tube that descends into the catacombs deep beneath the arena. We follow the instructions on the wall to my room where I will be launching into the arena from. To the Capitol, they're called Launch Rooms; to the districts, they're called Stockyard. It's where we send livestock to be slaughtered.

Everything is brand new. I will be the first and only tribute to use this launch tube. The arenas are historic sights, preserved after the Games. Popular destinations for the Capitol residents to visit, or vacation to. Go for a month, rewatch the games, tour the catacombs, and visit the sites of where the deaths took place. You can even take place in reenactments. The say the food is great.

I struggle to keep my breakfast down as I take a shower, and brush my teeth. Cinna does my hair in my simple trademark braid, down my back. The uniform comes in, it's same for every tribute; Cinna has no say in the matter. He doesn't even know what will be in the package. Cinna helps me dress in the undergarments: simple tawny pants, light green blouse, sturdy brown belt, and a thin, hooded black jacket that falls to my thigh.

"The material in the jacket is designed to reflect body heat, expect some cool nights." Cinna says.

The boots, worn over skintight socks, are better than what I could have hoped for. Soft leather, not unlike the ones I have back home. Though these are better because of the narrow flexible rubber sole with tread; which is great for running. When it looks like I have finished dressing Cinna pulls out my gold Mockingjay pin that Madge gave me.

"Where do you get that from?" I ask.

"I pulled it off of you the green outfit you wore on the train." Cinna said.

I remember taking off my mother's dress and pinning it to the green shirt that night on the train.

"It's a district token?" Cinna asked.

I nod, and then he fastens it to my shirt.

"It barely cleared the review board. Some thought the pin could be used as a weapon, giving you an unfair advantage. But eventually they let it though. There you're all set. Move around; make sure everything fits comfortably." Cinna said.

I walk, run in a circle, and swing my arms around.

"Yes, it's fine. Fits perfectly." I say.

"Then we just sit here and wait; unless you think you can eat again." Cinna says.

I turn down the offer for food, but I ask for a glass of water. I slowly sip on it, while we sit on the couch and chair.

"Do you want to talk Katniss?" Cinna asked.

I shake my head, but a few minutes later I offer my hand to Cinna. He wraps both of his hands around mine, and we sit like that until it's time for me to enter the tube. To say that I'm nervous in a monumental understatement, but before I can contemplate my terror, a pleasant woman announces it time to prep for launch. Cinna and I walk over to the tube, still holding hands.

 _Besides Prim, and Peeta I want to see Cinna again._ I think.

As I step onto the plate Cinna continues to hold my hand, but he speaks.

"I'm not allowed to bet, but if I could I would bet on you." Cinna says.

"Truly?" I whisper.

"Truly," Cinna says, and then gives me a kiss on my forehead. "Katniss, the girl who was on fire."

Then the glass wall of the launcher began to lower, and it breaks our grasp. Cinna tap the glass under my chin, _Chin up._ I think.

I raise my chin up, and straighten my body posture as the platform is raising me up. The last thing I see is Cinna giving me a thumbs up. I'm plunged into darkness for about fifteen seconds before the light blinds me; while my eyes are adjusting I'm aware of a strong breeze and the smell of pines.

 _I'm home._ I think.

Then the booming voice of the legendary game announcer, Claudius Templesmith, begins to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Four Hunger Games begin!"


	11. Chapter 11

Sixty seconds. That's the allotted time we are required to stand on our platforms before the gong sounds. Step off before the allotted time, and land mines blow your legs off. Sixty seconds to take in the ring of tributes; all equal distance from the Cornucopia, a giant golden horn shaped like a cone with a curved tail, the mouth of which is twenty feet high; spilling over with things that could give us life in the arena. Food, containers of water, weapons, medicine, garments, and fire starters. Strewn around the Cornucopia are other items decreasing in value the further you get away from the horn. For example, three feet from my platform is a three foot section of plastic that would be great in a downpour, but in the mouth of the Cornucopia is a tent that would protect from all sorts of weather. If I had the guts to fight against the twenty-three other tributes and take it; which I have been instructed not to do.

We're on flat open, stretch of ground; a plain of hard pack dirt. Behind the tributes across from me I can see nothing, indicating a sharp downward incline or a cliff. To my right lies a lake; behind me to my left is piney woods. That is where Haymitch wanted me to go. I can hear the instructions in my head. "Just put as much distance between yourselves and the others; then look for a source of water."

It's tempting, oh so tempting to ignore the orders when I see the bounty in front of me. My tribute mind is telling me to run and get the necessary materials before anybody else and clear out, but the survivalist in me is telling me to look for the bare necessities, and then bug out. The Career tributes will have their fun, and then divvy up the spoils; even the bow and arrow set I see sitting in the mouth of the Cornucopia.

 _I will not give them an easy target._ I think. _Wait. What's that?!_

In the distance I see an orange back pack that could have supplies.

 _That's my target._ I think.

I may be a fast sprinter, but going for the bow and arrow set would be a disaster waiting to happen. I have to get in, grab the weapon and quiver, and then get out before I am could slaughtered by another tribute; most likely a Career. And I won't be their first kill of the day.

 _Orange pack here I come._ I think.

I know the minute is almost up, and I had place my feet in position to get that pack as soon as the gong goes off; when I suddenly notice Peeta. He's about five tributes to my right, quite a fair distance away. But I know he is looking at me, shaking his head at me. I'm puzzled by his actions because the sun is I my eyes, and then the gong rings. I jump off my plate, running in the direction of the orange pack, but I distracted be Peeta's immediate actions; he follows the orders. Peeta turns tail, and runs for the woods. I continue running for the pack, and just as I grab the pack another tribute is reaching for it. We wrestle over the pack until I'm sprayed in the face with a liquid. It's red, and it's coming from his mouth; I realize that it's blood. I climb out from under the boy and see that he had a knife sticking out of his back. I grab the knife, and turn to run. Just as I'm running away I see the Career tribute girl from district 2, and she has a handful of knives.

 _She doesn't miss._ I think

I see her pull her arm back and preparing to throw the next knife. I feel my fight or flight function kick in, and I get a burst of adrenaline coursing through my veins giving me a boost to my leg muscles; I follow my partner's action and bug out. I lift the pack up to protect my head, and I'm rewarded with second knife.

 _Thanks for the knives._ I think.

I know, for some strange reason know, that the girl won't pursue me. There are other, more willing tributes to kill. At the edge of the woods I turn long enough to survey the field, and then I turn and run full tilt deeper into the woods. About a dozen or so tributes are hacking away at each other at the horn; while several others lie dead already. Those of tributes who elected to flee have either vanished into the trees, or into the void across from me. I run deep into the woods until it conceals me from my competitors; I slow down to a jog that I think I can maintain for the next several hours. For the next few hours I alternate between walking and jogging putting as much distance between me and the Cornucopia, where the Career tributes are most likely to be; all the other the tributes are between me and them.

 _So I have a buffer before the Careers get to me._ I think.

I clean the knife I pulled out of the dead boy's body, and then put it in my pack, as I pull the other one free. I check the quality of the blade, and it's a fine specimen; a long sharp blade, with a serrate edge near the handle.

 _That will be useful if I have to saw through something._ I think.

I slide the second knife into my belt, and keep moving. I don't dare to check my pack while I'm still being hunted. I keep moving, only stopping periodically to check for pursuers. But I can go a long time in the woods; albeit, I'm going to have to look for water soon. Which was Haymitch's second order. I botched the first order up, so I don't fail to follow the second one; there isn't any water in sight. The woods begin to evolve, the pines are mixed with a variety of trees; some that I know, and other's I haven't seen before. At one point I hear a noise, I pull my knife thinking I have to defend myself; but I startled a rabbit.

"Good to see you." I whisper.

If there is one rabbit, there's probably hundreds more waiting to be snared. The ground begins to slope downwards. I don't like being in a valley, I feel trapped. I want to be on high ground, like the hills around District 12, but I keep moving.

It's funny though, I don't feel to particularly bad. The days of gorging myself have paid off. I've got the staying power even though I'm short on sleep. Being in the woods is rejuvenating, I enjoy the solitude; even though it's an illusion. I'm probably on screen right now; not consistently, but on and off. There are so many death on the first day that a tribute trekking through the woods isn't much to look at. But they'll show me; that I'm still alive and unharmed. One of the heaviest betting days is the opening, when the initial casualties come in. But that can't compare to when the playing field has shrunk to handful of players. Its late afternoon when they finally fire off the cannons They usually don't fire them off, and collect the bodies until after the fighting has stopped and the killers have dispersed.

I allow myself to stop and catch my breath, as I count the cannon shots. One, two, three, on and on until they reach eleven. Eleven dead in all; which means that there is thirteen left to play. I scrap at the blood that the boy had spit in my face earlier; I feel a shiver go down my spine. He's gone for sure. I wonder about Peeta, and if he lasted the day. I'll know in a few hours when they display images of the fallen tributes. All of sudden I'm overwhelmed by the thought that Peeta may already be lost, bled white, collected, and in the process of being transported back to the Capitol to be cleaned up, redressed, and shipped back to district 12 in a simple wooden box. No longer here; heading home. I try to remember hard if I saw Peeta once the action started. But the last thing I can remember is Peeta shaking his head as the gong had sounded. Not knowing if Peeta has lived or died has a crippling effect on me.

 _I didn't come out of my shell for that boy, only to have him die on me._ I think.

I'm close to tears, so I check my pack to take my mind off my lover's fate. I also to check the contents of the pack because I need to know what I'm working with; night will be falling shortly anyways. As I unhook the straps, I realize that the pack is sturdily made; albeit, the unfortunate color; the orange will practically glow in the dark. I make a mental note to camouflage it first thing tomorrow. When I open the flap I want more than anything for there to be water in the pack, but there isn't. Haymitch's directive to find water wasn't arbitrary. I won't last long without it. I'll be able to function for a few days without it, but I will have a few unpleasant symptoms of dehydration; after that I will deteriorate into a helplessness and be dead in a week, tops. I carefully lay out my provisions: one thin sleeping bag that reflects heat, a pack of crackers, a pack of dried beef strips, a bottle of iodine, a box of matches, a small coil of wire, a pair of sunglass, and a half gallon jug with a cap for carrying water.

 _It's bone dry._ I think.

How hard is it for them to fill up the jug with water? I then become aware of my dryness in my throat and mouth; the cracked lips. I've been moving all day long; it's hot, and I've been sweating. I do this a lot at home, but there is always a stream to drink from, or snow to melt.

As I refill my pack I have an awful thought: the lake near the Cornucopia. What if that's the only water source in here? That way they are guarantee drawing us into a fight. I think about how far the lake is from my position: it's a full day's journey from where I sit, and it's more complicated because I have had nothing to drink. And even if I make the journey, it's liable to be guarded by a few Career Tributes. I'm about to panic when I remember the rabbit I startled earlier.

 _It has to drink too. I just have to find where._ I think.

Twilight is coming, and I'm nervous. The trees don't offer much in the way of concealment; and while the pine needles muffles my footsteps they make tracking animals to a water source nearly impossible. And I'm still heading downhill, deeper and deeper into this never ending valley. I'm starting to get hungry, but I don't open my crackers, and beef tips yet. Instead I retrieve my knife and cut a piece of pine bark off the nearest tree. After a week of fine dining I have to choke the pine down, but I have eaten it numerous times in the past; so I'll just have to find my way again.

In an hour it becomes clear that I have to find a place to camp for the night. I hear the nocturnal creatures coming out to feed; I hear the occasional hoot, and howl, another clue that I will be competing with natural predators for the rabbits. As to whether or not I'm an apparent food source; probably too soon to tell, but I wouldn't be surprised if I'm being stalked right now. My fellow tributes win out as priority one. Those who fought at the Cornucopia this morning will probably hunt through the night. With a steady food and water supply, plus having the torches and flashlights. Not to mention the weapons that were strewn across the floor of Cornucopia that they are itching to try out. Against my better knowledge I take the wire out of my pack and set to snares in the brush, who knows how fast food will go out here. I walk for five more minutes before making camp. I pick a willow tree, not terribly tall; but it's clumped in with other willow trees, offering concealment with their long, flowing tresses. I climb up sticking close to the trunk, where I find a sturdy fork. It takes some doing, but I arrange the sleeping bag in a comfortable manner. I put the pack in the foot of the bag, and slide in after it. As I precaution, I undo my belt and loop it around and tightening it to the branch; securing myself to it. Now if I roll over I won't fall out of the tree. I'm small enough to pull the bag over my head, which I do; after I pull my hood up over my head. At great risk it took to get the pack I realized I made the right choice because as night falls, so does the temperature. While others worry about staying warm, I might be able to get a few hours rest.

 _Now if I only had something to drink._ I think.

Night has fallen, and I can hear the anthem that proceeds the death count. I can see the seal of the Capitol through the branches, and it appears to be floating. While back home they show how each and every tribute was killed in all their glory, the Gamemakers only show the picture of the tribute. It's only fair; say if I had gotten my hands on a bow, then my secret would be out. Instead they just show the picture of the tribute that was aired after their private session, and the district that the tribute is from. I take a deep breath and brace myself as they prepare to show the faces of the fallen. The first face they show is the girl from District 3. Both tributes from Districts 1 and 2 survive.

 _No surprise._ I think.

The next face is the boy from District 4. Now that is a shock. Usually all of the tributes from the Career districts make it. Next it the boy from District 5; the fox-faced girl has survived the first day. Both tributes from Districts 6 and 7 are gone. The boy from District 8, and both tributes from District 9. The boy from 9 attempted to wrestle the pack away from me before being killed. I tick off on my fingers.

 _One short._ I think.

Is it Peeta? No, it is the girl from District 10, and then the seal is back in the sky again. Just as quickly as the seal appeared, it's gone.

 _Oh Peeta, you're alive!_ I think, on the verge of tears.

If I die, and Peeta lives I know my mother and Prim will still be okay. Elven dead, but none from District 12. I work those who are still alive. All five Career tributes, Foxface, Thresh, Rue.

 _Rue made it out alive._ I think, happily.

That makes ten of us. I'll figure out the other three in the morning. Now that night has fallen completely, I must get some sleep. Working on two days without sleep, and the long day's journey into the arena, I let my muscles relax. The last thing I think as I drift off is that I'm glad I don't snore…

Snap!

 _What the!_ I think.

The sound of breaking branches wakes me. How long have I been asleep? Four hours? Five? The tip of my nose is ice cold. Snap! Snap!

 _What is that idiot doing?!_ I think.

These branches aren't being broken underneath someone's foot. These branches are being deliberately broken off a tree. Snap! Snap! I judge the sound to be coming a couple hundred yards to my right. Noiselessly, and silently I turn in the direction of offending sound. For several seconds its black; then I see a spark, and a small fire begins to bloom. A pair of hands warms over the flames, but I can't make out more than that.

 _This genius!_ I think.

I silently, and mentally scream every foul I know name at the fire starter. I'd ask if they had any common sense, but I already know the answer to that question. Lighting a fire at dusk while the Careers are still at the Cornucopia is one thing. But this late into the night after the have been hunting for hours looking for their next victim. You might as well be waving and flag saying "Come and get me!"

I lie smoldering in my bag for the next few hours, really contemplating that if I _could_ get out of this tree, I would have no problem killing them myself. But my instincts have been to flee, not to fight. This person is a hazard though. Stupid people are dangerous. And this person probably doesn't have a weapon.

 _While I have this lovely knife._ I think.

The sky is still dark, but I can see the telltale signs that dawn is approaching. I'm beginning to think that we- the person whose demise that I'm currently plotting and I- might go unnoticed. I couldn't have been more wrong. I hear the telltale sound of death approaching: several pairs of feet breaking out into a run.

 _Bye!_ I think.

The fire starter must have dosed off because they're on her before she can escape. I can tell it's a girl because of the pleading and the agonizing scream that follows. There's laughter and congratulations to go around. I hear somebody say. "Twelve down, eleven to go!" which gets a round of appreciative hoots.

 _So they're hunting in packs now. I better not get caught out in the open._ I think.

In the beginning the strong band together to hunt down the weak, and then when the numbers beginning to dwindle and tensions run high; they will turn on each other. I don't have to think too hard about who makes up this alliance: Districts 1, 2 and 4. Two boys and three girls.

I can hear them checking the girl for supplies, but by the sounds of their disapproval they find nothing of value. I wonder if the victim was Rue, but I dismiss that thought as quickly as it came. She is too smart to build fire like that.

"Better clear out so they can collect the body before it starts stinking." One of the tributes says, and I'm almost sure that it's the brutish boy from District 2.

 _Wait a minute. The cannon hasn't shot off yet. You guys suck! If I would have killed her, I would have at least have the decency to kill her first try, and not let her bleed out._ I think.

There are murmurs of assent and they begin to leave; and to my horror, they walk towards me.

 _Did they spot me? They couldn't have spot me!_ I think.

My concealment is solid while the sun is still down. That is until it rises and my black bag becomes trouble. They stop in a clearing ten feet from my position and turn back in my direction. I cease all movements, including my breathing. I'm not exactly sure if they spotted me, but from the sounds of their voices their minds are somewhere else.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" One of them asked.

"I'd say yes. Nothing to stop them from going in immediately."

"Unless she isn't dead."

"She's dead. I stuck her myself."

"Then where's the cannon?"

"Someone should go back, and make sure the job is done."

"Yeah, we don't want to track her down again."

 _Keep arguing and she's going to bleed out. Mission accomplished!_ I think.

"I said she's dead!"

An argument breaks out among the tributes, until one tribute silences them all.

"We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on."

 _Plot twist number 2._ I think.

I almost fall out of the tree. That was Peeta's voice.


	12. Chapter 12

Thank goodness I had the foresight to belt myself in. I roll sideways off the fork, and I'm facing the ground. Held in place by the belt, one hand and both of my feet straddling the pack in my sleeping bag; braced against the trunk. There must have been some rustling when I tipped over sideways, but the Careers were too caught up in their own argument to notice it.

"Go on Lover Boy." The boy from District 2 says. "See for yourself."

I get a glimpse of Peeta when he passes into the torchlight, heading back to finish the girl by the fire.

 _What happened to you?_ I think.

His face is swollen with bruises, there's a bloody bandage on one arm, and by the sound of his gait he's limping. I remember him shaking his head telling me not to wade into the thick of thing for the supplies; when all along he had planned to throw himself into the thick of things. Just the opposite of what Haymitch instructed.

Okay I can stomach that. Seeing all those supplies was tempting.

 _But this!_ I think.

This was something else. Teaming up with the Careers to hunt the rest of us. No one from District 12 would do such a thing! Career tributes are overly vicious, arrogant and better fed, but that's because they are the Capitol's lapdogs. Universally hated by all except by those from their own district. I can image the things they are saying back home about him. My emotions are on overload because of this strange turn of events: anger, hate, rage, sadness, numbness, bitterness, and grief. The girl from before the opening ceremonies returns, and the logical section of my brain kicks before I blow a gasket. If this was his idea he was mulling over, I can't wait to hear his explanation for this transgression!

After Peeta is out of ear shot I hear the Careers talking in hushed tones.

"Why don't we kill him now, and get it over with?"

"Let him tag along. What's the worst that could happen? Not only that he's handy with a knife."

 _Oh really! Peeta, handy with a knife! I'm learning all sorts of new things about my friend!_ I think. _I have to protect my heart, so until we bury the hatchet I have to distance myself from Peeta._

"Not only that he's the best chance we have of finding her."

Doesn't take long to figure out that the _her_ they were referring to was me.

"Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?"

"She might have. She seemed simpleminded to me. Every time I think about her spinning in that dress I want to puke." The boy from District 2 says.

 _Give me my bow and I'll solve all your problems._ I think.

"Wish we know how she got that eleven."

"Bet you Lover Boy knows."

Peeta's return silences them.

"Was she dead." The boy from District 2 asks.

"No, but she is now." Peeta say.

Just then the cannon fires off.

"Ready to move?" Peeta asked.

The Careers set out at a run just as day is breaking, and the birds begin to sing. I'm too stunned and stupefied by Peeta's actions to move. Before long the exertion wins out and I pull myself out of my awkward position. I need to get down, and get moving; but all I can down is sit there and try to comprehend what I just heard. Not only is Peeta working with the tributes, but he's actively helping them look for me. The simpleminded girl who has to be taken seriously because she scored an eleven. Because I can use a bow; which interesting enough Peeta already knows that, but he hasn't told them yet. Is he saving that bit of information because he knows it's the only thing keep him alive? Is he still pretending to love me for the audience?

 _What's going in that head of yours Peeta?_ I think.

Suddenly the birds fall silent, then one gives the warning call. Just like the day Gale and I saw the Avox, and her friend get taken. High above the dying campfire a hovercraft materializes. A metal claw lowers and pulls the dead girl up into the hovercraft. Then the hovercraft vanishes as quickly as it came, and then the birds begin to sing again.

"Move!" I whisper.

I unbuckle my belt, and wriggle out of my sleeping bag; I roll up my sleeping bag and put it in my pack. While I've have been concealed by my bag, the darkness and the willow tree branches it has been hard to track me. The moment I drop down out of this tree I'm guaranteed a close up.

The audience will have been beside themselves, knowing I was in the tree, that I overhead the Careers talking, that I discovered Peeta is working with them. I'm not exactly sure how to play it, Peeta's actions seem like a greater betrayal than when he asked to be coached separately, so until then I need to be on top on top of things. Not perplexed; definitely not confuse or frightened. No I need to look one step ahead of the game.

So I slide out of the foliage into the morning light pausing long enough for the cameras to locking on to me. I give another bow; followed it up with cocking my head to the side, ever so slightly, and giving knowing smile. There! Let them figure out what that means!

I'm about to take off when I remember my snares. I know it's imprudent to check the snares when the Careers are still in the area, but after years of hunting plus the lure of fresh meat win out. To my surprise I'm reward with a fine rabbit. I've clean, gutted and leaving the head, skin, feet and guts under a pile of leaves. I'm wishing for a fire to cook this rabbit because eating rabbit raw gives you rabbit fever- a lesson I learned the hard way- when I remember the dead girls fire. I run over to the dying fire and see that coals are still hot. I cut the rabbit up and fashion a spit out of the branches and cook the meat.

I'm glad for the cameras now. I want the sponsors to see that I'm a good bet, that I can hunt and that I won't be easily lure into a trap because I'm hungry unlike the others. I grind up a charred branch and use the ash to cover my pack. The black tones down the orange, but a layer of mud would work miracles. To make mud I need water…

I pull on my gear, grab the spit, and kick some dirt over the coals, and then I take off in the opposite direction of the Careers. I eat half the rabbit, and then I wrap it in plastic and save the rest of it for later. The meat quiets the rumbling in my stomach, but it does nothing to quench the thirst. Water is my top priority now.

As I hiking along now, I'm almost certain that I'm holding the screen in the Capitol, so I'm wipe my face of emotions and continue moving along. I'm guessing that Claudius Templesmith is having an awesome time with the guest commentators dissecting Peeta behavior, and my reaction. What to make of it all? Has Peeta shown his true color? How does this affect the betting odds? Will we lose sponsors? Do we even _have_ sponsors?

 _Baby, what are you doing to us?_ I think, the ramifications of Peeta's actions are making my head spin.

I feel certain that we had sponsors, or at we least did. Certainly Peeta has thrown a wrench into our star crossed lovers dynamic, or has he? Maybe he hasn't spoken much about me, we might be able to get some more mileage out of it. Maybe people will think it's something we plotted together if I seem like it amuses me now. The sun rises in the sky, and even through the canopy it seems overly bright. I coat my lips with some rabbit grease and try not to pant, but it's no use. It's only been a day, and I'm already dehydrating fast. I try to wrack my brain about how to find water. It runs downhill so, I'm heading in the right direction. I look for other signs of water: a game trail, bright colored vegetation, but nothing seems to change. There's a gradual slope, some birds, and the same trees.

I know I'm in trouble as the day wears on. What little urine I pass is dark brown, my head aches, and there's a dry patch on my tongue that refuses to moisten. The sun hurts my eyes so I dig out the sunglasses, but they do something funny to my vision when I look through them. So I just put them back in my pack. By late afternoon I think I have found salvation when I saw a patch of berries. I grab a few berries and I'm about to spray my tongue with, but something makes me stop. What I think is a blueberry actually has a different shape. I break one open and its insides are the color of blood red. I begin to wonder if it is edible, possibly; but the plant instructor said not to eat any berries unless you were one hundred percent sure they weren't toxic; which I already knew. This could be an evil trick by the Gamemakers.

 _Not me!_ I think.

It takes all my will power, and the instructors' warning, to throw the berries away. Fatigue settles in, and it's not the kind that follows a long hike. I have to stop and rest frequently, and I know the only cure for my ailment is to continue searching. I try a new tactic: I climb a tree as high as I can in my shaky state and look for any signs of water, but all I see is more unrelenting forest.

Determined to go until nightfall, I walk until I'm stumbling over my own feet. Exhausted, I haul myself up a tree and belt myself in. I have no appetite, but I suck on the rabbit bone to give my mouth something to do. When night falls the anthem plays and high in the sky I see the picture of the girl who Peeta killed early this morning; apparently she was from District 8. My fear of the Career pack is minor compared to my burning thirst. Beside the Careers went the opposite direction of me; and by now they probably returned to the lake to refill seeing as how water is pretty scarce out here. Returning to the lake might be the only course of action for me to.

The morning brings more distress with it. My head throbs with every beat of my heart. Simple movements send stabbing pain through my joints. I fall, rather than jump from the tree. I takes several minutes to assemble my gear; I know deep down I am doing this is wrong. I should be acting more cautiously, but my head is too foggy, and it's hard to formulate a plan. I lean back against the tree, and scratch the sandpaper surface of my tongue, and I weigh my options on securing water.

There's the lake, but I would never make it. Hope for rain, but there isn't a cloud in the sky. My only other option is to keep looking; when another option comes to mind, and it makes me mad.

Haymitch! He could send my water! Press a button and send it to me attached to a silver parachute; have it in a few minutes. I know that I have a sponsor, at least one or two who could afford a pint of liquid for me. It's pricey, but these people are _made_ of money; and they're all betting on me.

"Water." I say in a voice that's loud enough to be heard.

I wait for a time, and nothing happens. No parachute descending from the sky.

 _What's wrong with this picture?_ I think.

Am I delusional about having sponsors, or has Peeta's actions caused them all hang back? No, I don't believe that. There is somebody out there that wants to buy me water, but Haymitch is refusing to send it through. As my mentor, he controls the flow of the gifts we receive from our sponsors. I know he hates me, he's made that clear enough. But enough to let me die?! From this?! He can't do that, can he? If a mentor mistreats his tributes, he will be held accountable by the viewers and the people back in District 12. Even Haymitch wouldn't risk that, would he? Say what you will about the traders of the Hob, but I doubt they would allow him back if he let me die like this. Then how would Haymitch get his liquor? So what is he doing; trying to make suffer for defying him? Is he direct all the sponsors towards Peeta?

 _Why? Peeta has all the water he needs._ I think.

So it's not that. Or is he too drunk to realize what's going on right now? Somehow I don't believe that, and I don't believe that Haymitch is trying to kill off by neglect. He did, in his own cruel way, try to prepare me for this.

 _Then what is going on here?_ I think.

I bury my hands in my face. There's no danger of tears, I couldn't produce one now to save my life. What is Haymitch doing? Despite the anger, hatred, and suspicion, a small voice in the back of my head whispers the answer.

 _Maybe he's sending you a message._ It says.

Then I know. The reason that Haymitch is withholding water is because he know that I have almost found it. I grit my teeth, and pull myself to my feet. My back pack seems to have tripled in weight. I find a broken branch to use as a walking stick, and then set out. The sun is beating down, even more searing than the first two days. I feel like an old piece of leather; drying and cracking in this heat. Every step is an effort, but I refuse to stop; to sit down. If I sit down I might not be able to get back up again, or I might forget what my task was.

 _I feel like I'm behind the bakery again._ I think.

What easy prey I am! Any tribute, even tiny Rue, could take me right now; just shove me over and kill me with my own knife; I have little strength to resist.

 _Is there even anybody left in these neck of the woods?_ I think.

If there was anybody in the general vicinity they ignore me. Truth be told I feel a million miles away from the nearest tribute.

 _I'm not alone though._ I think.

I'm definitely on camera, tracking my every movement. I think back to all those years that the tributes starve, freeze, bleed and dehydrate to death. Unless there was a big fight going on somewhere, I'm definitely on camera.

My thoughts turn to Prim. I'm sure she isn't watching me live, but I'm pretty sure they have updates for her to watch during lunch. For Prim's sake, I try to look as least desperate as I can. But by the afternoon I know my end is coming. My legs are shaking, and my heart is beating too quickly. I've stumble many times, but I was able to get my feet back under me; but when my stick slips out of my grasp I fall down hitting the ground, with a bounce, and I'm unable to get back up. I allow my eyes to close, and greet the end in peace. I have misjudged Haymitch. He had no intention of helping me.

 _That is all right. It is not too bad here._ I think.

The air has cooled considerably, so evening will be coming soon. I miss the fact that my noise is telling me that I smell the sweet scent lilies, and that my finger is drawing circles through wet earth.

 _This is an okay place to die._ I think.

My fingertips make swirl patterns in the cool, slippery earth.

 _I love mud._ I think.

How many times have I track game back of its soft, readable surface. It's also good for beestings.

 _MUD!_ I think, sitting straight up.

I dig my fingers into the earth. My nose lifts into the air and I take a breath. Those are lilies. Pond lilies! I crawl through the mud, dragging myself to the scent. Five yards from where I fell, I crawl through a tangle of plants into a pond. Floating on top, are yellow flowers in bloom, are my beautiful lilies.

It's all I can do to stop myself from dipping my face into the water and gulping down as much as I can hold. I pull out the jug, and fill it half way. I put the required amount of iodine drops to purify the water, and wait a half an hour for the process to be complete. It's the longest, most agonizing half hour ever, but I wait it out; or what seems like a half hour.

 _Slowly; easy now._ I tell myself.

In a two hour period, I drink a gallon of water. I fill the jug and put in the iodine drops. I retire to a tree where I continue to sip the water and eating rabbit; I even eating one of the crackers. By the time anthem plays that night I starting to feel better. No tributes died today. Tomorrow I will stay her and recoup, cover my pack in mud, and hunt some of those fish that I saw skimming the surface of the pond. I'll also dig up the roots of the pond lilies and have a nice meal. I snuggle into my sleeping bag, and hang on to that water jug for dear life.

A few hours later, the stampede of feet wakes me from my slumber. I look around in bewilderment. It's not even dawn, yet but the stinging in eyes gives it away. It would be hard for me to miss the wall of fire descending on me.

 _A/N: I apologize for this shameless plug, but if you enjoy my writing style check out another story that I'm writing in the Hunger Games universe called The Rise of the Falcon and the Mockingjay. It starts eight years prior to Katniss and Peeta being reaped, but it goes into their trilogy with those events playing out differently. See a younger version of key characters; people who died now survive, and certain horrible events being written out. It's a new story with a new protagonist that influences the course of the rebellion._


	13. Chapter 13

My first impulse is to scramble from the tree, but I'm belted in. Somehow my fumbling fingers release the buckle, and I fall in a heap to the ground, still snarled in my sleeping bag. There's no time for packing; fortunately my pack and bottle are in my sleeping bag. I shove the belt in, hoist my bag over my shoulder, and flee. The world is transform to flame and smoke, burning branches crack from trees and fall in a shower of sparks at my feet. All I can do is follow the others, the rabbits and deer; I even spot a pack of wild dogs shooting through the woods.

I trust the sense of direction because their instincts are sharper than mine. But they are much faster than me, flying through the underbrush gracefully; as my boots catch on roots and fallen tree limbs, there's no way I can keep up with them. The heat is horrible, but worse than the heat is the smoke; which threatens to suffocate me at any moment. I pull the top of my shirt up over my nose, grateful to find it soaked in sweat. It offers a thin layer of protection. And I run, chocking, my bag banging against my back, my face cut with branches that materialize out of thin air in this gray haze because I'm supposed to run.

This is no tribute's campfire gone out of control, no accidental occurrence. The flames bearing down on me have an unnatural height, a uniformity that makes them man-made, machine-made, Gamemaker-made. Things have been too quiet today. No deaths, perhaps no fights at all. The audience will be getting bored, claiming that the Games are verging on dullness. That is one thing Games _must_ not do.

It's not hard to follow the Gamemakers logic: there's the Career pack, and then there is everybody else; spread few and far between in this arena. This fire was meant to flush us out, and drive us together. It may not be the most original device I have ever seen, but it's very, very effective.

I hurdle over a burning log, but not high enough. The tail of my jacket catches on fire, and I have to stop to rip the jacket off and stomp out the flames. I don't dare to leave the jacket, scorched and smoldering; I take the chance of shoving the jacket in my bag, in hopes the lack of air would quell whatever I didn't extinguish. That's all I have, what I carry on my back; and it's little enough to survive with.

In a matter of minutes my throat and nose are burning. The coughing begins soon after my lungs feel like they're are being cooked. Discomfort turns to distress until each breath sends a searing pain through my chest. I manage to take shelter under a stone outcropping just as the vomiting begins, I lose the meager meal and whatever water I had in my stomach. Crouching on my hands and knees, I retch until there is nothing left to come up.

I know I need to keep moving, but I'm trembling, light-headed, and gasping for air. I allow myself a spoonful of water to rinse my mouth and spit; I take a few swallows from my bottle.

 _You get one minute. One minute to rest._ I think.

I take this time to reorder my supplies; I wad up my sleeping bag and stuff it back in my pack. My minute is up and I know that I have to keep moving, but the smoke has cloud my thoughts. The swift footed animals that were my compass have left me behind. I haven't been in this part of the woods before; there are no rocks that I took shelter under during my earlier travels.

 _Where are the Gamemakers driving me back to? The lake?_ I think.

To a whole new terrain filled with danger? I had just found a few hours of peace at the lake when the attack started. Is there any way I could travel parallel to the fire and make my way back to there, to a source of water at least. The wall of fire must have an end, it won't burn indefinitely. Not because the Gamemakers couldn't fuel it but because, again, it would invite the accusations of boredom from the audience. If I could get back behind the fire line I could avoid meeting up with the Careers.

I've just decide to try and loop back around, although it will require miles of travel away from the inferno and then a circuitous route back, when the first fireball blast into the rock two feet from my head. I spring out from under the ledge, energized by renewed fear. The game has taken a twist. The fire was just to get us moving, now the audience will get to see some real fun. When I hear the next hiss I hit the deck, not taking the time to look, the fireball hits a tree of to my left engulfing it in flames. To remain still is to invite death; I'm barely on my feet and moving when the third fireball lands where I was lying, sending up a pillar of flames. Times loses all meaning now as I frantically try to dodge the attack. I can't tell where they are launching them from, but they aren't coming from a hovercraft; the angles aren't extreme enough. Probably this whole segment of woods has been armed with precision launchers that are concealed in the trees and rocks. Somewhere in a cool, spotless room a Gamemaker is sitting at a console with their finger on the trigger that could end my life in second. All that's need is a direct hit.

Whatever vague plan I had for returning to the lake has been wiped from my mind. My current plan has me zigzagging and diving as I try to dodge the fireballs. Each one is the size of an apple, but it packs tremendous power. Every sense I has goes into overdrive as the need to survive takes over. There is no time to judge if a move is the correct one, or not. I hear a hiss, I move or die.

Something keeps me moving though. A lifetime of watching the Hunger Games lets me know certain areas of the arena are going to be rigged with certain attacks. If I can get away from this section of the arena I might be able to move out of range of their launchers. I might also fall into a pit of vipers, but I can't worry about that now. How long I have been scrambling along dodging the fire balls I can't say, but it seems that the attacks finally begin to abate. Which is good I'm beginning to retch again. This time it's an acidic substance that scalds my throat and makes its way into my nose as well. I'm forced to stop as my body convulses, trying desperately to rid itself of the poisons that I have been sucking in since the attack began. I wait for the next hiss, the next signal to bolt; except it doesn't come. The force of the retching has squeezed some tears out of my stinging eyes. My clothes are drenched in sweat. Through the smoke and vomit I pick up the smell of singed hair. I reach back and feel that about six inches of my braid have been seared of by a fireball. Strands of my blackened hair crumble in my finger. I stare at them, fascinated by their transformation, when the hissing registers.

My muscles react, just not fast enough. The fireball crash to the ground to my side, but not before it skids across my right calf. Seeing my pant leg on fire sends me over the edge. I twist back and forth on my hands and knees, shrieking, trying to remove myself from the horror. When I finally regain my sense, I roll the leg back and forth on the ground; which stifles the worst of it. Then, without thinking, I rip the affected fabric away with my bare hands.

I sit on the ground, few yards away from the blaze set off by the fire ball. My calf is screaming, my hands ae cover in welts. I shaking too hard to move. If the Gamemakers want to finish me, now is the time.

 _Somehow, the irony of the situation is not lost on me._ I think.

I hear Cinna's voice, carrying images of rich fabric, and sparkling gems. "Katniss, the girl who was on fire."

The Gamemakers must be having a good laugh at my expense. Maybe Cinna's beautiful costume have brought on this particular form of torture. I know Cinna couldn't have foreseen this; he must be hurting for me because, for a fact, I know that he cares for me. But all in all, maybe showing up in the chariot stark naked might have been safer.

The attack is over, for now. The Gamemakers don't want me dead. Not yet anyways. We all know they can kills us with a press of a button as soon as the gong sounds. The real sport of the Hunger Games is watching the tributes kill one another. Every so often, they kill a tribute to remind the rest of us that they can. But mostly they manipulate us into confronting each other. If I'm not being fire upon anymore, then that means there is at least one tribute nearby. I would drag myself into a tree and take cover, but smoke is still thick enough to kill me. I make myself stand, and then I limp away from the wall of flames that lights up the sky. It doesn't seem to pursuing me any longer, except its stinking black cloud.

Another light, daylight, begins to emerge. Swirls of smoke catch the sunbeams. My visibility is poor in any direction; I can see up to fifteen yards tops. A tribute could easily be concealed from me here. I should draw my knife, but I doubt my ability to hold it for long; albeit, the pain in my hands can't compete with the pain in my calf. I hate burns, always have; even small one gotten from pulling a bread pan out of the oven. It is the worst kind of pain to me, but I have never experienced anything like this. I'm so weary I don't even notice I'm in a pool of water until I'm ankle deep. It's spring-fed, rising up out of a crevice, and blissfully cools. I plunge both of my hands into the shallow water, and feel instant relief. Isn't that what my mother always said? The first treatment for a burn is cold water. That it draws out the heat. She probably meant minor burns.

 _Like my hands._ I think.

But what about my calf? I don't have the courage to check it yet, but I'm guessing that it's in a different category of its own. I lie on my stomach for a while dangling my hands in the water, I can see the flames on my nails beginning to crack and chip off. Good, I have had enough fire for one lifetime. I try to bathe the blood and ash off of my face. I try to recall everything I know about burns. The most common injury in the Seam where we cook and heat our homes with coal. Then there are the accidents in the coal mines. A family once brought an unconscious young man to my mother. The doctor said that he wasn't going to make. The sight of the man missing half of his skin because it was charred to the bone drove me from the house. Prim, who usually is afraid of her own shadow, didn't flinch. She exceled when it came to healing people. Mother said that healers are born not created. The man still died even though mother and Prim did all they could do to help.

My leg still needs attention, but I don't have to courage to check it. The flashback of that man from the mine accident are still in my eyes. What if my leg is just like his, and then I remember my mother saying something? If the burns was so severe the patient wouldn't be able to feel anything because the nerves might already be destroyed. Encouraged by this, I sit up and swing my leg in front of me. I almost faint at the sight of my calf. The flesh is brilliant red covered in blisters. I force myself to take slow deep breaths; almost certain that I'm on camera. I can't show weakness at this injury, not if I want help. Pity does not get you aid. Admiration at your refusal to give in does. I cut the remains of my pant leg of at the knee, and examine the injury more closely. The affected area is the size of my hand. None of the skin is blackened; I think it's not too bad to soak.

Gingerly I stretch my leg out into the pool, propping the heel of my boot on a rock to keep the leather from getting sodden, and sigh because this does offer some relief. I know there are some herbs that could aid in the healing, but I can't recall them to mind. So water and time is my best option for healing at this time.

Should I be moving on? The smoke has died down, but it's still too thick to be healthy. If I do continue away from the fire won't I be walking into the weapons of the Careers? Besides every time I go to move my leg the pain rebounds so intensely that I have to put my leg back in. My hands are slightly less demanding, they can handle small breaks from the pool. So I slowly put my gear back in order. I fill my jug with water and treat it, and slowly begin to rehydrate my body. After a time I force myself to nibble on cracker, and it helps to settle my stomach. I roll my sleep bag up, and except for a few scorch marks it's still usable. My jacket is another thing completely: stinking and scorched; about a foot of the back is beyond repair. I cut off the damaged portion leaving me with a garment that comes to the bottom of my ribs, but the hood is intact and it's far better than nothing.

Despite the pain, drowsiness starts to set in. I would take to a tree and rest, but I'd be too easy to spot. That, and my leg won't let me leave this pool. I neatly arrange my supplies and shoulder my pack, but I can't seem to leave this place. I spot some water plants with edible roots, and make a meal with the last piece of rabbit. I sip some water as I watch the sun make its slow arc across the sky. Where would I go that's safer than here? I lean back on my pack, overcome with drowsiness.

 _If the Careers find me… let them find me._ I think.

And find me, they did. It's lucky that I'm ready to move on because when I hear their feet, I have less than a minute head start. Evening has begun to fall, and then I wake I'm up and running; splashing across the pool into the underbrush. My leg slows me down, but I sense that my pursuers are not as speedy as they were before the fire. I hear their coughs, and their raspy voices calling out to each other.

Still, they're closing in on me like a pack of wild dogs; so I do what I have done in the past in these situation: pick a tall tree and climb it. If running hurt, then climbing is agonizing because it requires not only exertion, and but direct contact of my hands on the tree bark. Even with the damaged hands I'm still able to climb the tree fast because by the time they get to the base of the trunk I'm twenty feet up. We stand there surveying each other. I hope they can't hear my pounding heart.

 _This could be it._ I think.

What chance do I stand against them? All six of them; the five Careers and Peeta. My only consolation in this whole ordeal is that they're pretty beat up themselves; albeit, look at their weapons. The look on their faces, grinning and snarling at me; a sure kill above them. I almost lose hope when a new thought crosses my mind. They're bigger and stronger than me, no doubt.

 _But they're also heavier than me._ I think.

There's a reason why it's me and not Gale that climbs the tree to rob the nests, and pick the fruit.

 _I have to weigh at least fifty to sixty pounds less than the smallest Career._ I think.

This thought gets a smile to cross my face.

"How's everything with you?" I call down cheerfully.

This takes the group by surprise, but the audience will eat this up; they live for sort of thing.

"Well enough." The boy from District 2 say. "Yourself?"

"It's a bit warm for my taste, but I'll live." I say.

I can almost hear the laughter from the Capitol.

"It's warm up here. Why don't you come up?" I say

"I think I will." The same boy says.

"Here take this Cato." The girl from District 1 says.

She hands him the bow and the quiver of arrow. If it wasn't for the fact that I didn't want to get slaughtered on the opening day I would be severely pissed off that she has the weapon, but I know made the right choice. I look at Peeta to see what he has to say for himself, but he is avoiding making eye contact with me by polishing the knife with the edge of his shirt.

 _How's that big plan of yours working out for you now?_ I think.

But something about his facial expressions tells me that something is wrong, like he believes that he failed at something.

 _Unless he wasn't working with the Careers to kill me._ I think.

I don't have time to ponder this new query because I hear Cato speaking again.

"No, I'll do it with my sword." Cato says, pushing the bow out of the way.

The sword is a short, heavy blade. I give Cato some time to hoist himself into the tree before I start climbing again. Gale always said that I remind him of a squirrel the way I scurry up even the slenderest of limbs. Part of it is because of my weight, and part of it is because of practice; you have to know where to place your hands and feet. I'm another thirty feet in the air when I hear the crack; I look down to see Cato and the branch fall back to the ground, and he hits the ground hard.

 _Is it too much to ask for that he would have broken his neck._ I think

To my displeasure Cato gets back to his feet, cussing up a storm.

Glimmer, the girl from District 1- _Why do the parents in District 1 come up with such horrible names?_ I think; anyways, she attempts to climb up after me, but has the common sense to stop when the branch begins to crack. When she gets back to the ground she fires an arrow at me, and it's pretty clear the level of competency she has with the bow.

 _NONE!_ I think.

One of the arrows gets lodged in the tree near me, and I'm able to grab it. I wave it teasingly above my head like it was the sole purpose of retrieving it, when actually I mean to use it against them if I ever get my hands on that weapon. I could kill every one of them if I ever get my hands on the weapon.

 _Peeta deserves the right to explain his actions._ I think.

The Careers regroup and I can hear the growling conspiratorially among themselves; furious that I made them look foolish.

 _Again._ I think, with a smile.

Twilight is beginning to fall upon us, and their window of attack is diminishing; when I hear Peeta say harshly.

"Oh let her stay up there, it's not like she is going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

 _Crap._ I think.

He is right about one thing: I'm not going anywhere. Then the reality of the situation hits me: I'm not soaking my leg and hands anymore; I'm left with the full potency of my burns, and then the aching returns. I scoot down to a fork in the tree and clumsily prepare for bed. I put my jacket on, roll my sleeping bag out, belt myself in, and try to keep from moaning. The heat from my bag is too much for my leg, so I cut an opening long enough for my leg to hang out. I drizzle water on the wound, and my hands.

All my bravado is gone. I'm weak from the pain and hunger, but I can't bring myself to eat. Even if I survive the night what will the morning bring? I stare into the foliage in the tree across from me willing myself to rest, but the burns won't allow me. Birds are settling down for the night, singing lullabies to their young. Night creatures emerge. An owl hoots. I smell a skunk through the haze of the smoke. The eyes of some animal peer at me from the neighboring tree, possum possibly, catching the firelight of the Career's torches. Suddenly, I'm up on one elbow. Those aren't possum's eyes, I know their glassy reflection too well. In fact those aren't animal eyes at all. In the last dim rays of light I make her, just sitting there watching me silently from her tree.

 _Rue. How long has she been there?_ I think.

The whole time, still and unobserved as the action unfolded beneath her. Perhaps she headed up the tree shortly before I did, hearing that the pack was close. For a while we hold each other's glance. Then, without rustling a leaf, she sticks her hand out and points to something above my head.


	14. Chapter 14

My eyes follow the line of her finger up into the foliage above me. At first I have no idea what she is pointing at, but then about fifteen feet above me I make out the vague shape in the dimming light. But of what? Some sort of animal? It looks like the size of a raccoon, but it hangs from the bottom of the branch; swaying ever so slightly. Then there is something else. I hear among the familiar sounds of woods, my ears register a low hum. It's a wasp nest.

 _Wonderful._ I think.

Fear shoots through me, but I have enough sense to remain still. For all I know these could be the standard you-leave-us-alone-we'll-leave-you-alone type, but not here; not in the arena. This the Hunger Games, standard isn't the norm here. More likely it's going to be another muttation cooked by the Capitol, tracker jackers. Just like the Jabberjays, these killer wasp were spawned in a lab, and then strategically placed, like land mines, around the district. Larger than normal wasp, the have a distinctive gold body and a sting that raises to the size of a plum on contact. Most people can't tolerate more than a few stings, some die instantly. If you survive an encounter the hallucinations brought on by the venom have driven people to madness. And the final rub, these creatures will hunt down anyone who disturbs their nest and attempt to kill them; thus their name, tracker jackers.

After the war, the Capitol destroyed all the nest near the city, but left all the ones intact surrounding the districts. Another reminder of our weakness; in a sense, just like the Hunger Games. Another reason to stay inside the fence of District 12. Whenever we come upon a nest, both Gale and I immediately head in the opposite direction.

So that's what's hanging above me. I turn back to Rue for help, but she has melted back into her tree.

Given the circumstances it doesn't matter what nest it is; I'm trapped, and wounded. The darkness has granted me a brief respite, but come morning the Careers will have devised a plan to kill me.

 _Peeta do you realize the people that you are running with are keeping you alive long enough to watch me die, and then they will have no use for you after that._ I think.

The Careers have no other choice after I had made them look like fools. The nest is my only option that is left open to me. If I drop it down on them I could escape, but I will be risking my life in the process.

 _That, and Peeta's life. Sorry baby._ I think.

Of course I will never be able to get close to the nest to cut it down; so I will have to saw the branch off and send it plummeting. The serrated edge of the knife will be able to do the job, but will my hands be able to hand the pressure? Will they be able to handle the force that will be exerted upon them when I start sawing away at the branch? What if the vibration from my sawing causes the nest to stir? What if the Careers figure out what I'm doing, and decide to move their camp? That would defeat the purpose.

 _That's a lot of what ifs?_ I think.

My best chance to bring the nest down without being seen is during the anthem later; which could begin at any time. So I grudgingly pull myself out of my bed, and climb up to the branch with the nest. This is, in and of itself, becoming more dangerous because the branches are becoming more precariously thin, even for me; but I preserve. When I reach the limb with the nest the humming becomes more distinct, but it's oddly subdued; even for tracker jackers.

 _The smoke has sedated them._ I think.

The seal of the Capitol shines above me, and then anthem blares away.

 _It's now or never._ I think, and then begin to saw away at the branch.

The blister on my right burst hand as I awkwardly drag the knife back and forth. When I get a groove the work requires less effort, but it's almost more than I can stand. I grit my teeth and continue to saw away; I occasionally glance up and register that there were no deaths today. That's alright; the audience will be sated to see me injured, treed with the pack beneath me. The anthem is running out and I'm only three quarters of the way through the branch when the music ends, and then sky goes dark.

 _Now what._ I think.

I could finish the job by sense of feel, but that may not be the smartest plan. If the wasp are too groggy, or the branch catches on the way down, or I could escape this could all be a deadly waste of time. Then an idea crosses my mind: come up here early in the morning and finish the job. That is a more tempting idea, then completing it now. By the light of the Career torches I creep back down to my branch when I see the best gift ever waiting for me. Sitting on my sleeping bag is a small pot attached to a silver parachute. My fist gift from a sponsor. The pot fits in the palm of my hand. What can it be? Not food that's for certain. I unscrew the lid, and by the smell of the scent that comes from the pot its medicine. I stick two finger in and the pain practically disappears.

"Oh. Thank you, Haymitch." I whisper.

He hasn't abandoned me, and left me to fend for myself. The cost of this medicine is astronomical; not one, but probably a few sponsors had to contribute to buy this tiny pot. But to me, it's priceless.

I dip two fingers in the pot, and then gently apply the salve to my calf. The effects are almost magical, erasing the pain on contact, leaving a cooling sensation behind. This is no herbal concoction that my mother makes, this is a high-tech medicine that was brewed in a lab here at the Capitol. With my calf treated, I rub a thin layer into my hands. After I wrap the pot in the parachute, I put in my pack. With the pain eased, it's all I can do to get settled in and get some rest before I plunge into sleep.

A bird perched a few feet from me alerts me to the dawning of a new day. In the morning gray light I look at my hands. The medicine transformed them from angry red patches to soft baby-skin pink. My leg still feels inflamed, but that burn was much deeper.

 _Still a better gift than getting the water._ I think, as I apply another coat to my leg.

I quietly pack up my gear. I have to move fast, so I eat a cracker, a beef tip, and drink a few cups of water. I kept nothing down during yesterday's marathon, and I'm already feeling the effects of hunger.

Below me, I see the Careers and Peeta asleep on the ground. From her position, it looks like Glimmer was on watch, but was overtaken by fatigue. I spot Peeta and the fact that I'm about to cause him harm just so I can escape is unbearable, yet unavoidable. I shed a tear as I blow Peeta a kiss. I turn my attention to little Rue. She warned me of the nest above me; so it seems fair to give her a heads up on what I'm about to do.

I call Rue's name in a hushed whisper and then eyes appear, wide and alert, at once. She looks at me and then points up at the nest again. I nod and show her the knife making a sawing motion. She nods her understanding of the situation, and then disappears. There's rustling in a nearby tree, and then the same noise in a tree further away. It takes me a little bit to figure out that she was jumping from tree to tree. It's all I can do to keep myself from laughing. Is that what she showed the Gamemakers? I can imagine her jumping from training equipment to training equipment, never touching the ground. She should have at least gotten a ten.

Rosy streaks are breaking through in the east, I can't afford to wait any longer. Compared to the agony of last night's climb, this one is a cinch. When I get to the limb that holds the nest I position the knife and prepare to begin sawing when something catches my eye. There on the nest, the bright gold gleam of a tracker jacker lazily making its way across the papery gray surface. No question that the wasp is acting subdued, but it's up and moving around; which means all of its little buddies will be up and moving around soon.

 _Wonderful!_ I think.

Sweat breaks out on my palms, beading through the ointment, and I do my best to pat them dry on my shirt. If I don't get through this branch in matter of seconds the whole swarm could emerge and attack me. There is no sense in putting it off any longer; I take a deep breath, grip the knife handle and bear down as hard as I can. _Back, forth, back, forth!_ The tracker jackers begin to buzz and I hear them coming out. _Back, forth, back, forth!_ A stabbing pain shoots through my knee, and I know that one has found me, and the others will be honing in soon. _Back, forth, back, forth._ Just as I cut through the branch I shoved it away from me as far as I can. It crashes down through the lower branches, snagging on a few temporarily, and then twisting free. The nest bursts open like an egg, and then the furious swarm takes to the air. I feel a second sting on my check, and a third on my neck, and their venom instantly makes me woozy. I hold on the tree with one hand will I rip the barbs from my flesh. Fortunately only the three wasp identified before the nest crashed into the ground. The rest of the swarm has targeted their enemies on the ground.

 _Peeta, I'm so sorry!_ I think.

It's mayhem! The Careers have woken to a full-scale tracker jacker attack. Peeta and a few others have the sense to drop everything and bolt. I hear a few cries of "to the lake!" and know they try to avoid the wasps by taking to the water. It must be close if they think they can outdistance these furious insects.

 _Good luck. I hope the only person that makes it is Peeta._ I think.

Glimmer and another girl, the one from District 4, aren't so lucky. They receive multiply stings before they leave my field of view. Glimmer appears to go completely mad, shrieking and trying to bat at the wasp with the bow.

 _Which is completely useless._ I think.

She calls out for help from the others, but nobody returns. The girl from District 4 staggers out of sight, but I have my doubts about her making it to the lake. I watch Glimmer fall and twitch hysterically on the ground for a few minutes and then go still.

The nest is nothing more than an empty shell, I have my doubts that they will return, but I don't take any chances. I climb out of the tree and hit the ground running in opposite direction of the nest back to my own little pool. I submerge myself for the better part five minutes, just to make sure they weren't any other wasps following me. When I think the coast is clear, I drag myself up on the rocks. People weren't lying about tracker jacker stings; albeit, the one on my knee is actually about the size of an orange as opposed to a plum. A foul-smelling green liquid oozes from the places where I pulled the stingers from.

The swelling. The pain. Watching Glimmer twitching to death on the ground; it's a lot to take in before the sun has even cleared the horizon. I don't want to think about how Glimmer looks now. Her body disfigured; her swollen fingers stiffening around the bow…

 _The bow!_ I think.

Somewhere in my befuddled mind one thought connects to another, and I'm on my feet teetering through the trees back to Glimmer. The bow, the arrows; I must get them! I haven't heard a cannon fire off, so Glimmer's heart must still be battling the wasp venom; in a coma like state. But once it stops beating, a cannon will fire, signaling her death; and a hover craft will come and collect her body, plus the weapon. That is the only bow and arrow set I've seen the entire time we have been in the arena.

 _I refuse to let the weapons slip through my grasp a second time!_ I think.

Just as I reach the Glimmer's body I hear the cannon fire. The tracker jackers have all vanished. Glimmer, the girl who was so breathtakingly beautiful in her golden dress the night of the interviews, is unrecognizable. Her features eradicated, her limbs three times their normal size. The stinger lumps start to explode, spewing putrid green liquid all around her. I have to break what appears to be several fingers with a rock to free the bow; the quiver is pinned under her back. I try to roll her over by pulling on one arm, but the flesh on that arm disintegrates and I fall back to the ground.

Is this real, or have the hallucinations already begun? I squeeze my eyes tight, and breath through my mouth; ordering myself not to get sick. Breakfast must stay down, who knows when I will be able to hunt again. A second cannon fires off, and the girl from District 4 must have died. I hear the birds fall silent and then another one gave the warning call that a hovercraft is about to appear. I'm confused because I think it's for Glimmer, but I'm still in the picture. I sit back on my heels and look into the sky; which was a bad idea because the sky and the trees start to spin. I throw myself over Glimmers body as if to protect it, but I see the girl from District 4 being lifted into the air and vanishing.

"Do this!" I command myself.

I reach under Glimmer with of my hands and grip what was probably her rib cage, and roll her onto her stomach. I can't help it now, I'm hyperventilating now; the whole thing is so nightmarish that I'm starting to lose my grip on reality. I tug the silver quiver of arrows off, but it gets stuck on something. I thinks it her shoulder blade that quiver gets caught up on, but I finally yank it free. Just as I'm shouldering the quiver I hear the foot falls of the returning Careers to either kill me, collect their weapons, or both.

 _It's too late to run!_ I think

I pull a slime cover arrow out of my quiver and try to position it on the bowstring, but instead of seeing one string I see three, and the stench from the stings are so repulsive I can't nock the arrow.

 _I can't! I can't!_ I think.

I'm helpless when the first hunter crashes through the brush, but I feel a wave of relief crash over me when I see its Peeta.

 _I think it's Peeta, but I see three of him._ I think

I'm about to run to him, when I see the look of shock on his face. I see that he had a spear raise to throw at me, but he yells at me instead.

"What are you still doing here?" Peeta hisses at me.

I'm lost at first. _What does he mean by that?_ I think. I see all three of the Peeta's run at me, and just as he is climbing a small rise in the ground, Peeta focus into one person as he approaches me.

"Are you mad?" Peeta asks, prodding me with the shaft of his spear. "Get up! Get up!"

 _What's going on here?_ I think, as Peeta shoves me very hard away from him.

"Run!" He screams. "Run and don't look back!"

 _But why? Why are you staying behind, and not coming with me?_ I think, as tears begin to well up in my eyes.

Just as I start to run off Cato comes crashing through the brush, and from the sunlight flashing in my vision his sword is drawn. I do as I'm told and run as fast as my weak legs will carry me. I run back past my pool, and into to unfamiliar territory. The world begins to bend in alarming ways. A butterfly balloons to the size of a house. The trees turn to blood and splash down onto my boots. Ants begin to crawl out of the blisters on my hands and I can't shake them free. They're climbing up my arms, and my neck. Someone screams a high pitched scream that never stops for a breath; I have a vague idea that I'm the one screaming. I trip and fall into a pit lined with tiny orange bubbles that hum like the tracker jacker nest. I tuck my knees up to my chin and wait for my death, but it doesn't come. I have the unfortunate pleasure of purging the venom from my body.

As nausea and disorientation start to claim my body and mind, tears begin to stream down my face as I make one final thought: _Peeta Mellark, my boyfriend, just sacrificed himself to save me._

With that ants bore into my eyes and I blackout.


	15. Chapter 15

I enter a nightmare from which I wake repeatedly to find a greater terror awaiting me. All the things I dread the most, the things I dread for other people manifest in such vivid detail that I can't help believe they're real. Each time I wake up I think, _At last, it's over!_ but it isn't. It's only the beginning of a new chapter of torture. How many ways do I have to watch Prim die? Relive my father's final moments? Feel my own body be ripped apart? This is the nature of the tracker jacker venom, so carefully created to target the place where fear lives in your brain.

When I do finally come to my senses, I lie still; waiting for the next onslaught of the imagery. But I eventually accept that the poison must have finally worked its way out of my system; leaving my body wracked and feeble. I'm still lying on my side, locked in the fetal position. I lift a hand to my eyes to find them sound, untouched by ants that never existed. Simply stretching out my limbs requires an enormous effort. So many parts of me hurt; it doesn't seem worth taking inventory of them. Very, very slowly I manage to sit up. I'm in a shallow hole, not filled with the orange humming bubbles of my hallucination, but with dead leaves. My clothes are damp, I don't know whether from pond water, dew, rain, or if its sweat that is the cause of it. For a long time all I can do is take a sip of my bottle, and watch a beetle crawl up the side of a honeysuckle bush.

How long was I out? It was morning when I lost all reason, now its afternoon. But from the stiffness in my joints it suggest that a day has past, two even. I'll have no way of knowing who survived the tracker jacker attack. Not Glimmer, or the girl from District 4. Then that leaves the boy from District 1, both from District 2, and Peeta.

 _If I was a betting girl, Peeta isn't with the Careers anymore._ I think.

Did they die from their stings? Certainly if they lived, their last days would have been as horrid as my own. And what about Rue? It would take much venom to kill her, but the tracker jacker would have to catch up to her. And Rue had a good head start.

A foul rotten taste prevails in my mouth, and the water has little effect on it. I drag myself over to the honeysuckle bush and pluck a flower. I gently pull the stamen through and set the drop of nectar on my tongue. The sweetness spreads through my mouth, and down my throat warming my veins with memories of summer, and my home woods and Gale's presence beside me. For some reason our conversation from the last morning comes back to me.

" _We could do it you know._ "

"Do _what?_ "

" _Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it._ "

And suddenly I'm not thinking of Gale, but Peeta and… Peeta! _He saved my life._ I think, because by the time we met up I couldn't tell what was real and what the tracker jacker venom had caused me to imagine. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Peeta stayed behind to fight Cato, but what for? Was he working the lover boy he initiated at the interviews? Or was Peeta seriously trying to protect me? And if Peeta was trying to protect me why would he hook up with the Careers in the first place? And then everything was starting to make sense, but the bitterness in my heart isn't making it any less easy to accept.

Why else would Peeta hook up with the Careers if for no other reason to drive a wedge between the two of us, and cause me to put as much distance between me and him? It's a disgusting plan, but if Peeta was with the Careers I wouldn't hesitate to clear out and stay away from him. But why didn't he tell me his plan?

I was about to think what Gale might think of Peeta's actions, but I put that thought out of my mind. For some reason Peeta and Gale don't coexist well in the theater of my mind.

So instead I focus on the first good thing since I landed in this arena. I have the bow and arrows! A full dozen arrows if you count the one I retrieved while I was in the tree. They bear no trace of the noxious green slime that came from Glimmer's body- which leads me to believe that might not have been wholly real- but there is a fair amount of dried blood on them. I can clean them later, but I do take this time to shoot a few arrows into a nearby tree. It's just like the bow in the Training Center, more than the one back home. But who cares? I can work with this.

 _Come out. Come out, where ever you are._ I think.

This weapon gives me an entirely new perspective on the Games. I know that I have a tough opponents left to face, but I am no longer merely prey that runs and hides, or takes desperate measures. If Cato would break through the trees right now, I wouldn't flee; I would shoot. I find that I'm actually anticipating that moment with pleasure.

But first, I need to get strength back into my body. I'm very dehydrated again, and my water supply is dangerously low. What little padding I had put on gorging myself during prep time in the Capitol is gone; plus several more pounds as well. My hips and ribs are more pronounced than I remember them being; even more than those awful months following my father's death. And there are my wounds- burns, cuts, and bruises from smashing into trees, and three tracker jacker stings; which are sore and swollen as ever. I treat my burns with the ointment and try dabbling a little on my stings as well, but it has no effect on them. My mother knew a treatment for them, some type of leaf that could draw out the poison, but she seldom had cause to use it, and I don't even remember its name; let alone it appearance.

 _Water first_ , I think. _You can hunt along the way now._ It's easy to see the direction I came from by the path of destruction my crazed body made through the foliage. So I walk off in the other direction, hoping my enemies still lie locked in the surreal world of the tracker venom.

I can't move to quickly, my joints reject any abrupt motion. But I establish my slow hunter's tread I use when hunting game; and within a few minutes, I come across a rabbit and make my first kill with the bow and arrows. It's not my usual clean shot through the eye, but I'll take it. A few hours late I come across a stream; it's shallow but wide, and it's more than sufficient for my needs. The sun is hot and severe, so while I wait for my water to purify I strip down to my undergarments and wade out into the stream. I'm filthy from head to toe. I try splashing myself, but I eventually lie down in the water for a few minutes; letting it wash the soot, blood, and the skin that has started to peel off of my burns. After rinsing out my clothes I hang the on the bushes to dry, I sit on the bank in the sun for a bit, as I untangle my hair with my hands. My appetite returns again, so I eat a cracker and a beef tip. With a handful of moss, I polish the blood off my silver weapons.

Feeling refreshed I treat my burns, braid my hair back, and dress in my damp clothes knowing the sun will dry them out soon enough. Following the stream against the current seems like a good idea; a fresh water source for me, and for any game nearby. I take out a strange bird that looks like some form of wild turkey; anyways, it looks plenty edible to me. By late afternoon I build a small fire to cook the meat, betting that dusk will conceal the smoke as I quench the fire at nightfall. I clean the game, taking extra care with the bird, but there's nothing alarming about it. Once the feathers are plucked it's no bigger than a chicken, but it's plump and firm. I place the first lot over the coal as I hear a twig snap. In one motion I raise the bow and arrow to my shoulder as I turn to the sound, but there is no one there; no one I can see anyways. Then I spot the tip of a child's boot peeking out from behind the trunk of the tree, and I relax while I lower my bow.

 _She's resourceful I'll give her that._ I think.

She can move through the woods like a shadow, you have to give her that. How else could she have followed me? The words are out of my mouth before I could stop them; to be honest not that I wanted to.

"You know they're not the only ones that can form alliances." I say.

There is no response at first, and then one of Rue's eyes peeks out from behind the tree.

"You want me as an ally?" Rue asked.

"Why not? You save me with those tracker jackers. You're smart enough to still be alive. And I can't seem to shake you anyways." I say.

Rue blinks at me trying to decide.

"You hungry?" I ask.

I can see her swallow hard, her eyes flickering to the meat.

"Come on then. I've already had two kills today." I say, as I pat the dirt patch next to me.

"I can fix your stings." Rue says, as she makes her way cautiously over to me.

"You can?" I ask. "How?"

She digs into her pack and pulls out a handful of leaves. I'm almost certain that those are the leaves that my mother uses.

"Where did you find those?" I ask.

"There around." Rue says. "We all carry them. They left a lot of nest in the orchard; there are a lot here too."

"That's right, you're District Eleven; Agriculture." I say. "Orchards, huh? That must be how you're able to fly around the trees like you have wings."

Rue smiles. I just land on the one thing she'll admit with pride.

"Well, come on then. Fix me up." I say.

I plunk down by the fire, and roll my pant leg up exposing the sting on my knee. To my surprise, Rue places the handful of leaves in her mouth and begins to chew them. My mother would use other mean, but we don't have a lot of options. After a couple of minutes, Rue presses the gloopy green wad to my knee.

"Ohh." I say.

The sound comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. It's as if the leaves are leeching the pain out of the wound.

"You're lucky you had the sense to pull the stingers out, or you'd be a lot worse." Rue says, while giggling.

"Do my neck! Do my cheek!" I say, practically begging.

Rue stuffs another handful of leaves in her mouth, and then I'm laughing because the relief is so sweet. Before long I notice the burn on her arm.

"I have medicine to help with that." I say.

I set aside my weapon, and then apply the burn ointment on her arm.

"You must have good sponsors." Rue says, longingly.

"You haven't gotten anything yet?' I ask.

She shakes her head.

"Just wait, you will. Watch. When it gets down to the wire, the more people will realize how clever you are."

I turn the meat over.

"You weren't joking, about wanting me for an ally?" She asks.

"No, I meant it." I say.

I can almost hear Haymitch grunt as I team up with this wispy child, but I want her. She's a survivor, plus I need someone I can trust, and why not admit it? She reminds me of Prim.

"Okay." She says, holding her hand out. We shake. "It's a deal."

Of course this kind of deal can only be temporary, but neither of us mentions that.

Rue contributes a big handful of some sort of starchy root to the meal. Roasted over the fire, they have the sharp taste of parsnip. She recognizes the bird too, some wild thing they call groosling in her district. She says sometimes a flock will wonder into the orchard and they get a decent lunch that day. All conversation stops, for a while, as we fill our stomachs. The groosling has delicious meat that's so fatty, the grease drips down your face when you bite into it.

"Oh, I never had a whole leg before." Rue says with a sigh, eyeing the leg.

 _I bet she hasn't. I'm guessing meat doesn't come her way very often._ I think.

"You can take the other leg." I say.

"Really?" She asks.

"Take whatever you want. Now that I have a bow and arrows, I can get more. Plus I have snares, I can show you how to set them." I say.

Rue still looks at the leg with uncertainty in her eyes.

"Oh take it." I say, putting the leg in her hands. "It will only keep a few days. We have the whole bird, plus the rabbit."

Once she gets a hold of it, her appetite wins out and she takes a huge mouthful.

"I'd have thought that in District 11 that you have a little more to eat because you grow the crops." I say.

Rues eyes widen. "Oh no, we aren't allowed to eat the crops."

"They will arrest you, or something?" I ask.

"They whip you, and make everybody else watch." Rue says. "The mayor is very strict about it."

I can tell by her expression it's not an uncommon occurrence. A public whipping's a rare thing in District 12, although occasionally one occurs. Gale and I could be whipped, technically, on a daily basis for poaching; they could do so much more to us, but the officials buy our meat. Besides the mayor, Madge's father, doesn't have a taste for the events. Maybe being the poorest, the least prestigious, and most ridicule district in the country has its advantages. Such as being largely ignored by the Capitol; as long as we produce our coal quotas.

"Do you get all the coal you want?" Rue asks.

"No. Only what we buy, or whatever we track home in our boots." I say.

"They feed us a bit extra during harvest so everybody can go longer." Rue says.

"Don't you have to be in school?" I ask.

"Not during harvest. Everybody works then." Rue says.

It's interesting hearing about her life. We have little communication with anyone outside of our district. I wonder if the Gamemakers are blocking out our conversation right now. Even though the information seems harmless, they don't want us to know how life is in the other districts.

At Rue's suggestion, we lay out our food supplies to plan ahead. She's seen most of mine, but I add the last bit of crackers and beef strips to the pile. Rue has gather quite the collection of roots, nuts, greens, and even some berries.

"You sure this is safe?" I ask, as I roll the berry through my fingers.

"Oh yes, we have them back home; I have been eating them for days." She says, as she pops a handful in her mouth. I tentatively bite into one, and it's as good as our blackberries back home. Taking Rue on as an ally seems like the better choice all the time. We divide up our food supplies, in case we get separated, so we will be set for a few days. Apart from the food, Rue has a water skin, a homemade slingshot, and an extra pair of socks. She also has a sharp shard of rock that she uses as a knife.

"It's not much, but I had to get away from the Cornucopia." Rue says, as if embarrassed.

"You did just fine." I say.

I spread the rest of my gear out, and Rue lets a gasp out when she sees the sunglasses.

"How did you get these?" Rue asked.

"They were in my pack. I tried wearing them when the sun was out, but they distorted my vision." I say with a shrug.

"These aren't for seeing during the day, they're for seeing in the dark. When we have to harvest through the night they hand these out to those who climb into the highest part of the tree, the parts where the torch light doesn't reach." Rue says.

"So what do these do?" I ask.

"They let you see in complete darkness." Rue says. "Try them out later when the sun goes down."

I give Rue some matches, and she gives me plenty of leaves in case my stings flare up again. We extinguish our fire, and then head up stream until nightfall.

"Where do you sleep; in the trees?" I ask.

She nods her head.

"You sleep in just your jacket?" I ask.

"I have these for my hands." Rue says, holding up the extra pair of socks.

"You can share my sleeping bag; we will both fit in it easily enough." I say, thinking about how cold the nights have been getting.

Her face lights up, and I can tell it's more than she dared to hope for. We pick a tree, and then climb to the highest fork in the tree. We settle in for the night as the anthem begins to play; there were no deaths today. I whisper in Rue's ear to get update after being unconscious for so long. Even though the anthem is playing loud enough to drown us out I don't take any chances; I cover my mouth with my hand.

"Rue I only woke up today; how many nights did I miss?" I ask.

Rue takes her cue from me, and covers her mouth her hand, and whispers back.

"Two days. The girls from District 1 and 4 are dead. There are ten of us left." Rue says.

 _Oh due I remember how both of those girls died._ I think.

But something strikes me as odd: where is Peeta at during this whole thing. I know the truth of the matter, but I don't know what he has been doing or where he is at.

"Do you know the boy from my district, Peeta; where is he? I know before the tracker jacker attack he was with the Careers, but where is he now?' I ask.

"He's not with them now." Rue says. "I spied on their base camp after the attack, and I didn't see him there."

 _Okay so his play was to keep me from the Careers the entire time, but what is he doing now?_ I think.

"Is it true?" Rue asks.

 _Is what true?_ I think.

I'm not exactly sure what she is talking about, or is asking; so I give her a sideways glance.

"You and him?" Rue ask.

I take a deep breath. I know the answer to that question, but for some reason I don't want to answer to it. Not because I don't trust Rue; because I don't want the Capitol to be privy to my love life, and then that sensation of longing in my heart returns.

 _That's a question to be answered in private. Plus it's a question that should not to be taken lightly; not only that I'm not answering that question in front of the very people who still want to take away my future. Not only that I deserve better; Peeta deserves better._ I think.

The fact that I didn't answer at all is causing Rue to jump to conclusions; none that are wrong, technically.

"Let me get back to you on that; what do you say that we check out these glasses?" I say, as the anthem ends and the sky goes dark.

I pull the glasses out and slip them on. Rue wasn't kidding; I can see everything from the leaves on the trunk, to the skunk on the ground strolling through the bushes fifty feet from here. I can shoot it here if I had the mind to; I could kill anybody.

"Do you know who else has a pair of these?" I ask.

"The Careers have two pairs, but they have the supplies down by the lake." Rue says. "And they're so strong."

 _Do they now?_ I think.

"We're strong to. But in a different way." I say.

"You are. You can shoot." Rue says. "What can I do?"

"You can feed yourself. Can they?" I ask.

"They don't need too, they have the supplies down by the lake." Rue says.

"Say they didn't have them. Say they supplies were gone. How long would they last then?" I ask. "I mean, it is _the Hunger Games_ , isn't?"

"But Katniss, they're not hungry." Rue says.

"No they're not; not yet anyways. And that's the problem." I agree.

For the first time since I entered the arena I have a plan that isn't revolving around escape, and evasion. It's an offensive plan.

"I think we're just going to have to rectify that now aren't we, Rue?" I ask, with a big smile on my face.


	16. Chapter 16

Rue has decided to trust me whole heartedly because as soon as the anthem finishes she snuggles up against me falls asleep.

 _Just like Prim would._ I think.

Nor do I have any misgivings about her, as I take no particular precautions. If she wanted me dead, all she had to do is disappear from the tree without alerting me to the tracker jacker nest. Needling me at the back of my mind is the obvious: both of us can't win the games. But the odds are still against us both…

 _Never tell me the odds!_ I think.

Besides I'm distracted by my latest idea about the Careers and their supplies. Somehow Rue and I must find a way to destroy their food. After that it's a sure bet that it will be a tremendous struggle for them to feed themselves. Traditionally the Careers strategy is to take control of the supplies early, and then work their way from there. The years the Careers lost was because they left the food unguarded, and it gets destroyed: either by a catastrophe or some creature; the years that Careers lost their food supplies, one of the tributes from the outlying districts usually wins.

 _Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it._ I think.

Because the Careers have grown up being properly feed only puts them at a disadvantage because they don't know what it means to be hungry. Not the way that Rue and I do.

 _Which is weird given the fact that it's called the Hunger Games._ I think.

But I'm too exhausted to formulate a plan tonight. My wounds are still recovering, my mind is still foggy from the venom, and the warmth of Rue by my side, her head cradled on my shoulder, has given me a sense of security. Having Rue here with me makes me realize my loneliness ever since I entered the arena. How comforting the presence of another human being can be. A part of me takes over and I kiss Rue's forehead, as if I was kissing Prim's forehead; then I give into drowsiness. Vowing tomorrow I will turn the tables; forcing the Careers to go on the defensive.

The boom of a cannon jolts me awake. The sky is streaked with light, and the birds are already chattering. Rue is perched on a branch across from me, her hands cupping something. We wait, listening for more shots, but no more come.

"Who do you think that was for?" I ask; fearing that it might be for Peeta.

"I don't know. It could have been for any of the others. Guess we'll know tonight." Rue says.

"Whose left I ask?" I ask.

"The boy from District 1, both from District 2, the boy from District 3. Thresh, me, you and Peeta." Rue says. "That's eight. Wait, and the boy from District 10; the one with the bad leg. He makes nine."

There is someone else that we're missing, but we can't figure who it is right now.

"I wonder how the last one died." Rue said.

"Not that it matters because it will keep the crowd at bay for a time; giving us some breathing room before the Gamemakers decide to turn up the heat again." I say.

"It's not like they haven't been doing that already." Rue says.

"Touché, but that's not the heat I was talking about." I say, with a smirk. "What's in your hands?"

"Breakfast." Rue says, holding out her hands revealing two big eggs.

"What kind are those?" I ask.

"Don't know. Some kind of water bird I saw in the marsh over that way." Rue says.

I'd rather cook the eggs, but neither of us want to risk a fire. The tribute that died today was probably a victim of the Careers; which means that they have recovered enough to be back in the Games. We each suck the insides of the egg out, eat a rabbit leg, and some berries.

 _The breakfast of champions._ I think.

"Ready to do it?" I ask.

"Do what?" Rue asks, by the way she bounces up it tells me that she is up for whatever I proposes.

"Today we're going to destroy the Careers food supplies." I say.

"Really?" How?" Rue asks.

In that instances Rue and Prim couldn't have been more different. The glint in Rue's eye tells me that she is up for the adventure that we're about to embark on; whereas, the adventure would have been an ordeal for Prim.

 _How are you doing little duck?_ I think.

"No idea, but come on we'll figure something out while we hunt." I say.

That was easier said than done because I spend most of the time grilling Rue about the lay out of the Careers base. She's only be there to spy on them, but she is observant. They have their camp set up across from the lake. Their stash is about thirty yards away. During the day, they usually leave another tribute to watch the supplies while they go hunting; the boy from District 3 watches the supplies.

"The boy from District 3 is working with them?" I ask.

"Yes, he stays at the camp full-time. He got stung when they drew the tracker jackers back to the camp. I guess they agreed to let him live if he guarded the food." Rue says. "He's not very big though."

"What weapons does he have?" I ask.

"Not much that I could see. A spear, maybe. He could hold of few of us off, but Thresh could kill him easily." Rue says.

"And the food is just sitting there out in the opening? Something's wrong with this picture." I say.

"I know, but I couldn't tell exactly what though." Rue says. "Katniss even if you could get to the food, how would you get rid of it?" Rue asks.

"Burn it. Dump it in the lake. Soak it in fuel." I poke Rue in the belly just like I would Prim. "Eat it!" She giggles. "Don't worry, I'll think of something. Destroying things is much easier than making things."

For a while we dig for roots, we gather berries and greens. We discuss our strategy in hushed tone.

 _Who's going to tell the Careers what we have planned?_ I think.

I come to know that Rue is the oldest of six kids, fiercely protective of her siblings, gives her rations to her younger siblings; who forages in the meadows in a district whose peacekeepers are far less obliging than ours. Rue, who when you ask what she loves most in the world, replies, of all things. "Music."

"Music?" I ask.

In our world I rank music somewhere between hair ribbons and rainbows. At least with rainbows you can get a tip about the weather.

"You have a lot of time for that?" I ask.

"We sing at home, and at work, too. That's why I love your pin." She says, pointing to the mockingjay that I have completely forgotten about.

"You have mockingjays?" I ask.

"Oh, yes. I have a few that are my special friends. We can sing back and forth for hours. They even carry messages for me." Rue says.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I'm usually the highest up, and I'm the first to see the flag that signals quitting time. There's a special little song that I do." Rue says, and sings a four-note tune in a clear, sweet voice. In the trees all around us I hear the four-note tune being repeated. I look around until I realize what's singing the tune.

"Mockingjays." I say.

"Yep. The mockingjays spread it around the orchard, and everybody knows that it's time to knock off." She continues. "They can be dangerous though. If you get to close to their nest, but you can't blame them."

I unclasp the pin, and hold it out to her.

"Here, you take it. It has more meaning for you than me." I say.

"Oh no." Rue says, closing my fingers back over the pin. "I like to see it on you. That's how I knew I could trust you. Besides I have this."

She pulls out a necklace woven out of some kind of grass from her shirt. On it hangs a roughly carved wooden star, or a flower.

"It's a good luck charm." Rue says.

"Well its works so far. Maybe you should stick with it." I say as I pin the mockingjay back on my shirt.

By lunch we have a plan, by afternoon we're poised to carry it out. I help Rue to collect and place the wood for the first two camp fires; the third she will have time for on her own. We decide to meet afterwards at the site where we ate our first meal together. The stream should help guide me back. Before I leave, I make sure Rue is well stocked with food and matches. I even insist that Rue takes my sleeping bag in case we can't rendezvous by nightfall.

"What about you?" Won't you get cold?" Rue asks.

"Not if I pick one up down by the lake. You know it's not illegal to steal things here." I say with a grin.

Before I leave Rue decides to teach me the melody that she sings to the mockingjays to signal that the work day is through.

"It might not work, but if you hear mockingjays singing it means I'm okay; just can't to you right away." Rue says.

"Okay then. If everything goes according to plan I'll see you for dinner." I say.

Unexpectedly Rue throws her arms around me. I hesitate for a moment, and then hug her back.

"You be careful." Rue says to me.

"You, too." I say.

I turn and head back to the stream, feeling worried somehow. About Rue being killed, about Rue not being killed and the two of us being left for last; about leaving Rue alone, about leaving Prim alone back home. No, Prim has mother, Gale, and the Baker who promised that she wouldn't go hungry. Rue has only me. Once I reach the stream, I only have to follow it downhill to the place I initially picked it up after the tracker jacker attack. I have to be cautious as I move along the water though, because my thoughts are preoccupied with unanswered question, most of which concern Peeta. The cannon that fired earlier this morning, did that signify his death? And if so, how did he die? Was it at the hand of a Career? And if so was it for letting me get away? I struggle to remember that moment over Glimmer's body when he burst through the trees. Given the fact that I saw three Peeta's leads me to doubt everything that happened. I have a momentarily lapse in judgement, and a tear slips down my face.

 _Where are you babe?_ I think.

I must have been moving very slowly yesterday because I reach the shallow stretch where I take my bath yesterday. I stop to replenish my water, and add another layer of mud on my pack. It seems bent on reverting to orange no matter how much mud I apply.

My proximity to the Career camp sharpens my senses, and the closer I get to them the more guarded I become. I stop periodically to listen for any unnatural sound, with an arrow nocked to my bow. I don't see any other tributes, but I do see some of the things that Rue pointed out. Patches of sweet berries, the bush with the leaves that healed my stings, a cluster of tracker jacker nests in the vicinity of the tree I was trapped in; and the occasional flittering of the black and white of a mockingjay's wings in the branches above my head.

When I reach the tree with the abandon nest at its base I take a moment to gather my courage. Rue has given instructions on how to reach the best place to spy on the lake from this point.

 _Now the hunter, becomes the hunted._ I tell myself.

I waste no more time, I head to the point where Rue said I will be the most concealed; while grasping the bow in my hand a little tighter. I make it to the copse Rue talked about, and again I have to admire her cleverness; the point I'm spying from is right at the edge of the woods, but the bushy foliage gives me enough cover to see without being seen. Between us lies the flat expanse where the Games began.

I count four tributes in the camp: The boy from District 1, Cato and the girl from District 2, and the boy from District 3. I'm shocked that boy from District 3 is still alive because he is almost useless; at least to me. He didn't make an impression on me; I don't remember his costume, his training score, not even his interview. The boy looks kind of sickly, and his skin is ashen. Even as he sits there and fiddles with that box, he is largely ignored by his large and domineering companions. If he is still alive it reassures my theory that there is a trap somewhere nearby. But what could it be that would make the Careers stay their hand, and allow him to live for another day?

All four tributes are in the camp and they seem to be recovering from the tracker jacker attack. Even from here I can see the large swollen lumps on their bodies. They must not have had the sense to remove the stingers from their bodies, of if they did, they did not know about the leaves that healed them. Even the medicine in the Cornucopia didn't seem to be effective.

 _Sweet!_ I think

The Cornucopia sits in its original place, but its insides have been picked clean. Most of the supplies, held in burlap bags and crates, are all stacked in a pyramid a considerable distance away. The rest are spread around the perimeter of the pyramid, almost mimicking the layout of supplies at the onset of the Games. A canopy of netting that, aside from discouraging birds, seems to be useless shelters for the pyramid itself.

The whole setup is completely perplexing. The distance, the netting, and the presence of the boy from District 3. One things for sure, destroying the supplies is going to a lot hard than I originally planned. Some other factor is at play here, and until I figure that I out I better stay put. My guess is that it's booby-trapped in some manner. I think of concealed pits, descending nets, a thread when broken sends a poisonous arrow into your heart. The possibilities are endless.

 _That last part seems a bit far-fetched, even for this bunch._ I think.

While I'm mulling my options over, I hear Cato shout out. He's pointing into the distance towards the woods, away from me, and I know that Rue set the first campfire.

 _Good girl._ I think.

We grabbed enough green wood to make the smoke noticeable, and the Careers begin to arm themselves at once. An argument breaks out, and it's loud enough for me to hear from my position; it concerns the boy from District 3.

"He coming. We need him in the woods, and his job here is done anyways. No one can touch the supplies." Cato says.

"What about Lover Boy?" The boy from District 1 asks.

"I keep telling you, forget about him. I know where _I_ cut him. It's a miracle that he hasn't bled to death. At any rate he's in no shape to raid us." Cato says.

 _No, but I'm about to make you eat those words._ I think.

Fear wells up in me because Peeta is still out there in the woods somewhere, wounded badly. I take a few deep breaths to center myself as I prepare to destroy the supplies after the Careers leave.

"Come on." Cato says, and thrust a spear in the boy from District 3 hands. Before they leave I hear Cato speak again. "When we find her, I kill her in my own way; no one interferes."

Somehow I don't think he is talking about Rue, She didn't drop a tracker jacker nest on him. I stay put for a half an hour, trying to figure out how I'm going to destroy the supplies. The one advantage I have with the bow and arrow is distance. I could send a flaming arrow through the net easily, but I couldn't guarantee that it would ignite the supplies. If the boy from District 3 saw the arrow my secret would be out that I know how to use a bow, and that I'm not working alone; I'm going to have try another approach.

I have to leave the safety of the foliage, but luck is still on my side because the boy from District 3 has his back to me. Before I reveal myself movement to my right catches my eye. Several hundred meters in that direction I see someone break cover from the woods and run in the direction of the pyramid. At first I think its Rue, but then I recognize Foxface- the missing tribute that I couldn't think of this morning. Just before she reaches the supplies litter around the pyramid she stops, checks the ground, and carefully places her feet on a spot. Then she begins to approach the pyramid with strange little hops, sometimes landing on one foot, teeter slightly, sometimes risking a few steps. At one point she launches up in the air, over a small barrel and lands on her tiptoes, but overshot and her momentum throws her forward. I hear her gave sharp squeal as her hand hits the ground, but nothing happens. In a moment, she back on her feet and continues until she is in front of the supplies.

I was right about the booby-trap, but I wasn't prepared for the complexity of its nature. I was also right about the girl. How wily she is to discover the right path into the supplies, and how she is able to replicate it so neatly? She fills her pack, but only taking a few things from each container, or crate. By few I mean taking a small amount; as to not rouse suspicion that she was there. After she gets her supplies Foxface does her odd little dance back away from the pyramid, and then heads back into the woods.

I realize that I'm grinding my teeth in frustration. Foxface face has already confirmed what I already guessed, but what sort of trap have they laid that requires such dexterity? Has so many trigger points? Why did she squeal when her hand touched the ground? You would have thought that…

"That the ground was rigged with explosives." I say.

Well that makes sense. That explains why the Careers were so willing to leave the base unguarded, per se, Foxface's reactions, and the involvement of the boy from District 3.

 _Where they have factories to make televisions, automobiles, and explosives. Wait minute! Where did they get the explosives?_ I think.

The Gamemakers wouldn't put the explosives in the Cornucopia, that's not there style. They want the tributes to draw blood personally.

 _Unless._ I think.

I creep over to the metal plates that lifted all of us into the arena and see that ground around one of them has been dug up, and then patted back down as to not arouse suspicion.

 _I can almost hear Claudius and Caesar having a moment here about the mines._ I think.

The mines are disabled after the sixty second timer, but they are just left there. I guess the boy from District 3 dug them up and reactivated them so the Careers food supplies could be safe. Bet the Gamemakers didn't see that one coming.

 _Hooray for the boy from District 3 for putting one over there. Just one?_ I think.

I turn and look at the size of the pyramid, and think back to Foxface's little dance.

 _Not just one._ I think.

So much for walking right up, and attacking the supplies directly. I'm not going to go out like that. A fire arrow is laughable; mines are pressure sensitive.

 _So what are my options?_ I think.

I have to set off more than one mine to destroy the supplies, but how would I do that? I creep back over to the pyramid, and begin to scan it for weakness. Did the boy from District 3 place the mines in such a way, and a certain intervals that it would only kill the invader, but not destroy the supplies? I look over my shoulder to see Rue's second fire is lite, and I know that my time is running out. I'm seriously considering recreating Foxface's movements because even if I hit that oil container I could waste all of my arrows. I start walking toward the pyramid when I spot the burlap bag of apples.

 _Those are fill with at least fifteen or more apple, easily._ I think.

I calculate how many arrows, two or three arrows tops, it would take to open that bag and send the apples falling. I move into range, and prepare for the first shot. The first shot tears a gap near the top of the bag. The second widens it to a gaping hole. I knock the third arrow, and let it fly. Just at the arrow leaves my bow time seems to slow down, and stop. I see the arrow move in slow motion towards the bag of apples, and tearing the top off of the bag, and I watch as the apples tumble out of it. It dawns on me that I'm still close to the pyramid, and I don't know how many mines are around the supplies. Before I could move, time resumes at normal speed and I blown backwards through the air.


	17. Chapter 17

The impact of the hard-packed earth knocks the wind out of me. My backpack does nothing to soften the blow. Fortunately the quiver was caught in the crook in my elbow, sparing both itself and my shoulder; while the bow was locked tightly in my grasp. The ground still shakes from the explosions. I can't hear them; I can't hear anything at the moment. The apples most have set enough mines, causing debris to set the others off. I manage to shield my face with my arms as shattered bits of matter, some of it burning, rain down around me. An acrid smoke fills the air, which is not the best remedy for someone trying to regain the ability to breath.

After about a minute the ground stops vibrating. I roll on my side and allow myself a moment of satisfaction at the sight of the smoldering wreck that was recently the pyramid. The Careers aren't likely to salvage anything from that.

 _Time to leave. They'll be making a beeline for this place._ I think.

But once I'm on my feet I see that escape might not be so simple. I'm dizzy, and it's not the slightly wobbly kind; it's the kind that sends trees swooping around you, and causes the earth to move in waves beneath you. I take a few steps, and somehow I wind up on my hands and knees again. I wait a few minutes for this to pass, but it doesn't.

Panic begins to sink in, I can't stay here. Flight is essential, but I can neither walk nor hear. I place my hand up to my left ear, the one turned to the blast, and it comes away bloody. Have I gone deaf from the explosion? The idea absolutely frightens me because I rely in my hearing as much as my sight as a hunter, maybe more at times. I can't let fear show. I am absolutely, positive that I am live on ever screen in Panem.

 _No blood trails._ I tell myself.

I pull my hood up over my head and tie it under my chin with uncooperative fingers. That should help soak up the blood. I can't walk, but I can crawl. I move forwardly tentatively. If I move slowly, I can crawl. Most of the woods offer insufficient cover. My only hope is to crawl back to Rue's copse and conceal myself in greenery. I can't get caught out here in the open on my hands and knees. Not only will I face death, but it will surely be a slow and painful death at the hands of Cato. The thought of having Prim watch that keeps me doggedly moving forward towards the hideout.

Another blast knocks me flat on my face. A stray mine set off by some collapsing cate. This happens twice more. I'm reminded of those last few kernels that burst when Prim and I pop corn over the fire at home.

To say that I make it to cover in the nick of time would be an understatement. I have literally dragged myself into the tangle bushes at the base of the trees when there's Cato, barreling onto the plains, soon followed by his companions. His rage is so extreme it might be comical- so people do really rip their hair out and beat the ground with their fists- if I didn't know that it was aimed at me, at what I had done to him. Add to that my proximity, and my inability to run or defend myself.

 _The whole thing is actually pretty terrifying._ I think.

I'm glad my hiding place makes it impossible for the cameras to get a close shot because I'm biting my nails like there's no tomorrow. Gnawing off the last bit of nail polish, trying to keep my teeth from chattering.

The boy from District 3 throws stones into the ruins and must have declared all the mines activated because the Careers are approaching the wreckage.

Cato finishes his first stage of his tantrum takes out and his anger on the smoking remains by kicking open various containers. The other tributes are poking around in the mess, looking for anything salvageable, but there's nothing. The boy from District 3 did his job a little too well. The idea must have crossed Cato's mind because in an instant he turns on the boy and is shouting at him. The boy only has time to turn and run before Cato is on him, catching the boy in a headlock from behind. I can see the muscles ripple in Cato's as he sharply jerks the boys head to the side.

It's that quick. The death of boy from District 3. The other two Careers seem to be trying to calm Cato down. I can tell he wants to return to the woods, but the other two keep pointing to the sky, which has me puzzled until I realize.

 _Of course. They think whoever set off the mines is dead._ I think.

They don't know about the arrows, and the apples. They assume the booby-trap was faulty, but the tribute who blew up the supplies was killed doing it. If there was cannon shot it could have easily been lost in the subsequent explosions. The shattered remains of the thief remove by the hovercraft.

 _Hate to tell you, but there will only be two pictures in the sky tonight._ I think.

They retire to the far side of the lake and wait for the Gamemakers to remove the body of the boy from District 3; and they wait.

I suppose a cannon goes off. A hovercraft appears to retrieve the body. The sun dips beneath the horizon, and night falls. Up in the sky I see the seal, and I know that the anthem is playing. A moment of darkness. They show the boy from District 3, and then the boy from District 10; he must have been the one that was killed this morning.

 _He's still out there! Out there by himself; alone, wounded, and clinging to life!_ I think, wiping tears from my eye.

Then the seal reappears. Now they know that the bomber has survived. In the fading light of the seal I can see Cato and the girl from District 2 put on their night-vision glasses; while the boy from District 1 lights a tree branch as a torch. Illuminating the grim determination on all their faces. The Careers stride back into the woods to hunt.

The dizziness has subsided and while my left ear is still deafened, there is a ringing in my right ear.

 _I'm guessing that's a good sign._ I think.

There's no point in leaving my hiding place. I'm about as safe as I can be, here at the crime scene. They think that the bomber has a good two to three hour head start. It's still a long time before I even dare to move.

The first thing I do is dig out my own glasses and put them on. I find comfort in fact that I have pair of glasses; to have one of my hunter's senses working. I drink some water, and wash the blood from my ear. Fearing the smell of meat would draw unwanted predators- fresh blood was bad enough- so I make a meal of the greens, roots, and berries that Rue and I gather today.

 _Speaking of Rue, where is my little ally? Did she make it back to the rendezvous point? Is she worried about me? At the least she knows I'm still alive because of the nightly death count._ I think.

I run through the surviving tributes on my fingers. The boy from 1, both from 2, Foxface, both from 11 and 12. Just eight of us now. The betting in the Capitol must really be heating up. They'll be doing special features on each of us now. Probably interviewing our friends and family. It's been a long time since District 12 has had a tribute last this long.

 _The Capitol is interviewing Peeta's friends and family. I wonder what lies are being told about him. I know he had some friends, but I don't think they held him in high regards._ I think.

Thinking about what the people might say about Peeta when they are asked about him brings tears to my eyes. I have to make sure Peeta makes it to the end, but according to Cato, Peeta's on his way out. Not that it matters what Cato thinks. Didn't he just lose his supplies?

 _Let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin, Cato. Let Games begins for real._ I think.

A cold breeze has sprung up and I reach for my sleeping bag before I remember I left it with Rue. I was supposed to pick one up, but that idea was shot down when I learned of the mines. I begin to shiver. Since roosting up in a tree isn't sensible, I scoop out a hollow under the bushes and cover myself in leaves and pine needles. I'm still freezing, so I cover myself with the plastic sheet and position my pack to block the wind. It's a little better, barely. I begin to have some sympathy for the girl from District 8 that lit the fire the first night, but now it's my turn to grit my teeth and tough it out until morning. More leaves, more pine needles. I pull my arms inside my jacket, and tuck my knees under my chin. Somehow, I drift off to sleep.

When I open my eyes, the world looks slight blurry. It takes me a minute to realize that the sun must be well up, and the glasses are fragmenting my vision. As I sit up and remove them, I hear a laugh somewhere near the lake and freeze. The laugh's distorted, but the fact that it registers at all means that I must be regaining my hearing; albeit, there is still a ringing in my right ear. As for my left ear, well at least the bleeding has stopped.

I peer through the bushes, fearing the Careers have returned, trapping me here for an indefinite period of time. The person I see instead is Foxface standing in the burned out ruins of the pyramid and laughing. She's smarter than the Careers, actually finding a few items of value. A metal pot, and a knife blade. I'm perplexed by her amusement until I realize that with the Careers supplies destroyed she actually has a chance of winning. The thought of taking her on as an ally crosses my mind, but with that sly grin on her face I let it go. Taking her on would ultimately lead to getting a knife in the back. I instead decide to shoot her before she can become a threat. Before I can grab an arrow from my quiver Foxface hears something. It's not me because she turns her head away, towards the drop off. Foxface turns and runs for the woods. I wait, but no one or nothing shows up. Still if Foxface thought it was dangerous, maybe I should clear out too. Besides I want to tell Rue about the pyramid.

Since I have no idea where the Careers are, the route back by using the stream seems as good as any. I hurry, a loaded bow in one hand and cold groosling in the other. I'm famished and not for berries and leaves, but fat and protein. The trip to stream is uneventful. Once there I replenish I my water and wash up, taking particular care with my injured ear. Then I continue using the stream as a guide. At one point I see boot prints in mud on the shore line. The Careers came through here, but not for a while. Judging by the depth of the boot prints it was made in soft mud, but now they're nearly dried in the hot sun. I haven't been careful enough about my own tracks, counting on my light tread and pine needles to conceal my prints. Now I strip off my boots and socks, and walk barefoot in the river.

The cool water has an invigorating effect on my body and spirits. I shoot two fish, easy pickings in the slow stream. I eat one raw, even though I had the groosling, and save the other one for Rue.

Gradually, subtly, the ringing in my ear diminishes until it's gone entirely. I find myself pawing at my left ear trying to clean away whatever deadens it ability to collect sound. If there's an improvement, it's undetectable. I can't adjust to deafness in the ear. It makes me feel off balance, and defenseless to my left. Blind even! My head keeps turning to the injured side, as my right tries to compensate for a wall of nothingness where yesterday there was a constant stream of information. The more time passes, the less hopeful I am that this is a wound that will heal. When I reach the site of our first meeting, I feel certain it's been undisturbed. There's no sign of Rue, not on the ground or in the trees. This is odd, by now she should have returned, seeing how it's midday. Undoubtedly she spent the night in a tree. What else could she do with no light and the Careers with their night-vision glasses tromping through the woods? And the third fire she was supposed to set- although I forgot to check for it last night- is the farthest from our site. She's probably being cautious about making her way back. I wish she would hurry, I don't want to hang around here too long. I want to spend the afternoon traveling to high ground, hunting as we go. But there's nothing for me to do but wait.

I wash the blood out of my jacket and hair, and clean the ever growing list of wounds. The burns are better, but I use a bit of medicine on them anyways. The main thing to worry about now is keep them from getting infected. I go ahead and eat the second fish, it won't last long in this heat. It should be easy enough to spear a few more for Rue later. If she would just show up.

Feeling too vulnerable on the ground with my loop-sided hearing, I scale a tree and wait. If the Careers show up it would be the perfect place to shoot them from. The sun passes slowly, and I do things to pass the time. I chew leaves and place them on my now deflated stings that are still tender. Comb through my damp hair with my fingers and braid it. Lace my boots back up. Look over my bow, and my remaining nine arrows. Test my left ear for signs of life by rustling a leaf next to it, but without good results.

Despite the groosling and the fish my stomach is growling, and I know I'm going to have what we call in District 12 a hollow day. No matter what you eat that day it's never going to be enough. Having nothing to do but sit in a tree makes it worse, so I give into it. After all, I've lost weight in the arena I need the extra calories, and with the bow and arrows in my possession I confident about my future prospects.

I slowly peel and eat a handful of nuts, my last cracker, and the groosling next. Which is good because the neck takes time to clean. Finally the last groosling wing and the bird is history. But it's a hollow day, and I start daydreaming about the decadent dishes in the Capitol. The chicken in creamy orange sauce. The cakes and puddings. Bread with butter. The lamb and dried plum stew. Noodles in green sauce. I suck on some mint leaves and tell myself to get over it. Mint is good because we sometimes drink mint tea after supper, so it tricks my stomach into thinking eating time is over, sort of.

Dangling up in a tree being warmed by the sun, a mouthful of mint, my bow and arrows at hand… this is the most relaxed I've been since entering the arena. If only Rue would show up we could clear out. As the shadows grow, so does my restlessness. By late afternoon I've resolved to go searching for her. I can at least go visit the spot where she was supposed to set the third fire, and look for clues to her whereabouts.

Before I go, I scatter a few mint leaves around our old campfire. Since we gathered these some distance away Rue will know I have been here, while it will mean nothing to the Careers.

In less than an hour, at I'm the place where we agreed to have the third fire and I know something is amiss. The wood has been neat arranged, expertly interspersed with tinder, but it was never lit. Rue set up the fire but never made it back here. Somewhere between the second column of smoke I spied before blowing up the supplies and this point, she ran into trouble. I have to remind myself she is still alive. Or is she? Could the cannon shot announcing her death sounded during the wee hours of the morning when even my good ear was still to broken to have picked it up? Will she appear in the sky tonight? No I refuse to believe it. There could be hundred other explanations. She could have lost her way. Run into a pack of wild predators or another tribute, like Thresh, and had to hide. Whatever happened, I'm sure she's out there out stuck between the second fire and the unlit one at my feet. Something is keeping her up a tree. I think I'll go hunt it down.

It's a relief to be doing something after sitting around all afternoon. I creep silently through the shadows, letting them conceal me. But nothing seems suspicious. There's no sign of any kind of struggle, no disruption in the needles on the ground. I've stopped just for a moment when I hear it. I have to cock my head to the other side to make sure, but there it is again. Rue's four notes coming out of the mockingjay's mouth. The one that means she's alright.

I grin and move in the direction of the bird. Another just a short distance ahead, picks up on the handful of notes. Rue must have been singing to them recently, or they would have been singing another melody. My eyes lift up into the trees, looking for any sign of her. I swallow and sing softly back, hoping she'll know it's safe to join me. A mockingjay repeats the melody back to me. My blood runs cold when I hear the scream.

It's a child's scream, a young girl's scream. There's no one in the arena capable of making that sound except Rue. And I'm running, knowing this might be a trap, knowing that three Careers might be poised to attack me, but I can't help myself. There's another high-pitched cry, this time it's my name.

"Katniss! Katniss!"

"Rue!" I scream back, so she'll know I'm near. So _they_ know I'm near, and hopefully the girl who attacked them with a tracker jackers and had gotten an eleven they still can't explain will be enough to pull their attention away from her.

"Rue! I'm coming!"

When I break into the clearing I see Rue is hopelessly entangle in a net. She has just enough time to reach her hand through the mesh and say my name as the spear enters her body.


	18. Chapter 18

The boy from District 1 dies before he can pull out the spear. My arrow drives deeply into the center of his neck. He falls to his knees and halves the brief remainder of his life by pull the arrow out and drowning in his own blood. I'm reloaded, and shifting my aim from side to side.

"Are there more? Was he the only one?" I ask.

It takes me a moment before I register her response.

"No." Rue says.

Rue has rolled onto her side, her body curved in and around the spear. I shove the boy away, _one down, and two to go_. I think; I pull my knife out and cut Rue out of the net. One look at the wound and I know it's behind my capacity to heal. Beyond anybody's probably. The spear is buried up to the shaft in her abdomen. I stare helplessly, on the verge of tear, at the embedded weapon. There is no point in comforting words, telling her that she will be alright; she is no fool. Her hand reaches out and I clutch it like it's a lifeline; like I'm the one dying instead of Rue.

 _Might as well be._ I think.

"Did you blow up the food?" Rue whispered.

"Every last bit of it." I say.

"You have to win." She says.

"I'm going to win. Going to win for the both of us now." I promise.

I hear a cannon and look up. It must be for the boy from District 1.

"Don't go." Rue says tightening her grip on my hand.

"Course not. Staying right here." I say.

I pull Rue into me, laying her head onto my lap. I gently brush her thick, black hair behind her ear.

"Sing." Rue says.

 _Sing? Sing what?_ I think.

Then I remember that Rue loves music, so who am I to deny this dying girl's last wish. Believe it or not I do know a few songs; there was once music in my house a long time ago. My father pulled me in with that remarkable voice- but I haven't sang since he died. Except when Prim was sick. Then I sing her the same songs she liked as a baby.

Sing. My throat is tight with tears, hoarse from smoke and fatigue. The song I sing is a simple lullaby that we sing fretful, hungry babies to sleep with. It promises hope for a better tomorrow than the awful piece of time we call today, but before I start to sing I remember that Rue asked if Peeta and I were lovers. I can't let her leave without answering that question.

"Before I sing I have a confession to make." I say as I clear my throat.

Rue looks up at me expectantly.

"The answer to your question; about me and Peeta." I say.

Rue just nods her head. I still refuse to answer this question out loud, so I lean in and whisper it in Rue's ear.

"The answer is yes. Peeta and I are lovers. We were lovers long before Peeta's confession the night of the interviews." I whisper.

Rue begins to cry, I guess she was routing for us all along. I give a small cough, clear my throat and begin:

 _Deep in the meadow, under the willow_

 _A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_

 _Lay your head down, and close you sleepy eyes_

 _And when again they open, the sun will rise._

 _Here it's safe, here it's warm_

 _Here daisies guard you from every harm_

 _Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

 _Here is the place I love you._

Rue's eyes flutter shut. Her chest moves, but only slightly. My throat releases my tears, and they slide my cheeks. But I have to finish the song for her.

 _Deep in the meadow, hidden far away_

 _A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray_

 _Forget your woes and let your trouble lay_

 _And when again_ _it's morning, they'll wash away._

 _Here it's safe, here it's warm_

 _Here daisies guard you from every harm_

The last line barely audible.

 _Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

 _Here is the place I love you._

Everything is still and quiet. Then, almost eerily, the mockingjays take up my song. For a moment I sit there, watching my tears drip down onto her face. Rue's cannon fires, and I lean forward and press my lips against her temple. Slowly, as not to wake her, I lay her head back on the ground and release her hand.

They'll want me to clear out now, so they can collect the bodies. There's nothing to stay for anyways. I roll the boy from District 1 on his face and take his pack, and retrieve the arrow that ended his life. I cut the pack from Rue's back, knowing that she'll want me to have it, but I leave the spear in her body. Weapons in the body will be transported to the hovercraft. I've no use for the spear, so the sooner it's gone from the arena the better.

I can't stop looking at Rue, smaller than ever; a baby animal curled up in a nest of netting. I can't bring myself to leave her here like this; past harm, but seemingly utterly defenseless. To hate the boy from District 1, who also appears vulnerable in death, seems inadequate. It's the Capitol I hate, for doing this to us all.

Gale's voice is in my head. His ravings against the Capitol no longer pointless, no longer to be ignored. Rue's death has forced me to confront my own fury against the cruelties, the injustice they inflict upon us. But here, even more strongly than at home, I fell my impotence. There's no way to take revenge against the Capitol. Is there?

And then I remember Peeta's words on the roof. " _Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to… to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games._ " And the first time, I understand what he means.

I want to do something, right here right now, to shame them, to make them accountable, to show the Capitol that whatever they do or force us to do there is a part of every tribute they can't own. That Rue was more than a piece in their Games. And so am I.

A few steps into the woods grows bank of wildflower. Perhaps they're really weeds of some sort, but they have blossoms in beautiful shades of violet, yellow and white. I gather up an armful and come back to Rue's side. Slowly, one stem at a time, I decorate Rue's body in the flowers, covering the ugly wound. I wreathe her face. Weaving her hair with bright colors.

They'll have to show it. Or, even if they choose to turn the cameras elsewhere at this moment, they'll have to bring it back when they when they collect the bodies, and everybody will see her and know that I did it. I step back and take one last look at Rue; she could really be asleep in that meadow after all.

"Bye, Rue." I whispered.

I press my three middle fingers on my left hand against my lips and then hold them out in her direction. Then I walk away without looking back.

The birds fall silent. Somewhere, a mockingjay gives the warning whistle that precedes the hovercraft. I don't know how it knows. It must hear things that humans can't. I pause, my eyes focused on what's ahead, not what's happening behind me. It doesn't take long, then the general birdsong begins again and I know she's gone.

Another mockingjay, a young one by the look of it, lands on a branch before and burst out Rue's melody. My song, the hovercraft, we're too unfamiliar for this novice to pick up, but it mastered her handful of notes. The ones that meant she was safe.

"Good and safe, we don't have to worry about her now." I say, as I pass under a branch.

 _Good and safe._ I think.

I have no idea where to go. The brief sensation of home I felt that one night with Rue has vanished. My feet wander this way until nightfall. I'm not afraid, not even watchful. Which makes me an easy target. Except I would kill anyone on sight. Without emotion, or the slightest tremor in my hands. My hatred for the Capitol hasn't lessened my hatred for my competitors in the least; especially the Careers. They can at least be made to pay for Rue's death.

No one materializes though. There aren't many of us left and it's a big arena. Soon they'll pulling out some device to drive us back together. But there's been enough gore for today. We might even get some sleep tonight.

I'm about to haul my packs into the tree to make camp when a silver parachute floats down and lands in front of me. A gift from a sponsor. But why now? I've been in fairly good shape with supplies. Maybe Haymitch has noticed my despondency and is trying to cheer me up. Or could it be something to help my ear.

I open the parachute and find a small loaf of bread. It's not the fine white Capitol stuff. It's made of dark ration grain and shaped in a crescent, and sprinkled with seeds. I flashback to Peeta's lesson on various district breads in the Training Center. This bread came from District 11. I cautiously lift the still warm loaf. What did it cost the people of District 11 who can barely feed themselves? How many would have to do without to scrape up the coin to put in the collection for this loaf? It most surely had been meant for Rue. But instead of pulling the gift when she died, they authorized Haymitch to give it to me. As a thank you? Or because, like me, they don't like debts going unpaid?

 _A debt left unpaid, I don't know. I think this is more of a thank you because I was willing to accept Rue as an ally without hesitation, or reservations. And I tried to save her. It might even be a gift in an attempt to cheer me up even though I couldn't save her; it's the least they could do because of my actions._ I think.

For whatever reason, this is a first. A district gift given to a tribute that is not their own. I lift my head and step into the last rays of sunlight.

"My thanks to the people of District 11." I say. 

I want them to know _I know_ where it came from. That the full value of their gift has been recognized. I climb dangerously high, not for safety but to get as far away from today as I can. My sleeping bag is rolled neatly in Rue's pack. Tomorrow I'll make a new plan. Tonight all I can do is strap myself in take tiny bites of the bread. It's good, it tastes of home. Soon the seal is in the sky, and the anthem plays in my right ear. I see the boy from District 1, and Rue. That's all for tonight.

 _Six of us left. Only six._ I think.

With the bread still locked in my hands, I fall asleep at once. Sometimes when things are particularly bad, my brain will give me a happy dream. A visit with my father in the woods. An hour of sunlight and cake with Prim. Tonight it sends me Rue, still deck in her flowers, perched high in a sea of trees, trying to teach me how to talk to the mockingjays. I see no sign of her wounds, no blood, just a bright, laughing girl. She sings songs I have never heard in a clear, melodic voice. On and on. Through the night. There's a drowsy in between period when I can hear the last few strains of her music although she is lost in the trees. When I fully awaken, I'm momentarily comforted. I try to hold on to this peaceful feeling of a dream, but it quickly slips away, leaving me sadder and lonelier than ever.

Heaviness infuses my body, as if there is liquid in my veins. I've lost the will to do the simplest task, to do anything but lie here, staring unblinkingly through the canopy of leaves. For several hours, I remain motionless. As usual, it's the thought of Prim's anxious face watching me on the screens back home that breaks me out of my lethargy. I give myself a series of simple commands to follow.

"Now you have to sit up, Katniss. Now you have to drink water, Katniss. Now you have to sort the packs, Katniss." I say.

I act on the simple orders with robotic motions. Rue's pack holds the rolled up sleeping bag, her empty water skin, a handful of nuts and roots, a bit of rabbit, an extra pair of socks, and her slingshot. The boy from District 1 has several knives, a two spare spearheads, a flashlight, a small leather pouch, a first-aid kit, a full bottle of water, and a pack of dried fruit.

 _A pack of dried fruit, seriously!_ I think.

Out of all he had chosen from. To me this is a sign of extreme arrogance. Why bother to carry food with when you have such a bounty back at your camp? When you kill your enemies so quickly you'll be home before you're hungry. I can only hope the other Careers traveled so lightly when it came to food and now find themselves with nothing.

 _Speaking of which, my own supplies are running low._ I think.

I finish the rest of the bread from District 11, and the last bit of rabbit. How quickly food disappears around here. All I have left is Rue's nuts and roots, the boy's dried fruit, and one strip of beef.

 _Now you have to hunt, Katniss._ I think to myself.

I obediently consolidate the supplies I want into my pack. After I climb down the tree, I conceal the boy's knives and spearheads under a pile of rocks so that no one else can use them. I've lost my bearings with all that wandering around I did yesterday evening, but I try to head back in the general direction of the stream. I know I'm on course when I come across Rue's third, unlit fire. Shortly thereafter, I come across a flock of grooslings perched in a tree. I take three of them out before any of them knew what hit them. I head back to the signal fire and start it up, not caring about the excessive smoke.

 _Where are you Cato? I'm waiting right here._ I think as I roast the birds and Rue's roots.

Who knows where the Careers are now. Either too far to reach me, or too sure this is a trick, or…. Is it possible? Too scared of me? They have to know I have the bow and arrows, of course, Cato saw me take them from Glimmer's body. But have they put two and two together yet? Have they figured out yet that I was one that blew up the supplies and killed their fellow Career? Possibly they think Thresh did it. Wouldn't he be more likely to avenge Rue's death than I would? Being from the same district? Not that he ever took any interest in her. And what about Foxface? Did she stick around to watch me blow up the supplies? No, when I caught her laughing in the ashes the next morning, it was as if someone had given her a lovely surprise.

I doubt they think Peeta has lite the signal fire. Cato's sure he's as good as dead. I find myself wishing I could tell Peeta about the flowers I put on Rue. That now I truly understand what he was trying to say on the roof. Perhaps if he wins the Games, he'll see me on victor's night, when they replay the highlights of the Games on a screen over the stage where we did the interviews. The winner sits in a place of honor, surrounded by his support crew.

But I told Rue that I would win. For the both us. And somehow that seems more important than the vow I gave Prim. I really think I stand a chance now. Winning. It's not just having the arrows and outsmarting the Careers a few times, although those things help. Something happened when I was holding Rue's hand, watching the life drain out of her. Now I'm determined to avenge her, to make her loss unforgettable, and to do that I have to win; thereby making myself unforgettable.

I overcook the bird hoping someone shows up to shoot, but no one does. Maybe the other tributes are out beating each other senseless. Which would be fine. Even since the bloodbath, I've been feature on screens more than I care.

Eventually, I wrap up the food and head back to the stream to replenish my water and gather some. But the heaviness from the morning drapes back over me, even though it's only early evening; I climb a tree and settle in for the night. My brain keeps playing the events from yesterday. I keep seeing Rue being speared, my arrow piercing the boy's throat. I don't know why I should care about the boy. Then I realize why.

 _The boy was my first kill._ I think.

Along with other statistics they report to help people place their bets, every tribute has a list of kills. I guess I get credit technically for killing Glimmer and the girl from District 4, too, for dumping the nest on them. But the boy from District 1 was the first person to die because of my actions, directly. Numerous animals have lost their lives at my hands, but only one human. I hear Gale saying….

" _How different can it be, really?_ "

Amazingly similar in the execution. A bow pulled, and arrow shot; entirely different in the aftermath. I killed a boy whose name I didn't even know. Somewhere his family is weeping for him, his friends call out for my blood, maybe even a girlfriend that thought that he might actually come back…

And then I think of Rue's still body, and I'm able to banish the boy from my mind, for now.

 _How about the fact that he only want to keep my boyfriend around until he had served his purpose, which would have been killing me, and then he was going to kill him. I think we're even to an extent._ I tell myself.

It's been an uneventful day according to the sky. No deaths. I wonder how long we'll get until the next catastrophe drives us back together again. If it's going to be tonight, I want to get some sleep first. I cover my good ear to block out the strains of the anthem, but then I hear trumpets and I sit up straight in anticipation.

For the most part, the only communication the tributes get from the outside arena is the nightly death toll. But occasionally, there will be trumpets followed by an announcement. Usually, this will be a call to a feast.

 _Which is synonymous for a bloodbath._ I think.

When food is scarce, the Gamemakers will invite players to a banquet, somewhere known to all like the Cornucopia, as an inducement to gather and fight. Sometimes there's a feast, and sometimes there's a stale loaf of bread for the tributes to compete for. I wouldn't go in for the food, but it is tempting enough to take out a few of my competitors while they fight over the food.

Claudius Templesmith's voice booms down from overhead, congratulating the six of us who remain. But he is not inviting us to a feast. He is saying something very confusing. He is saying there is a rule change in the Games.

 _A rule change!_ I think.

That in and of itself is mind bending because we don't have any rules to speak of, except not stepping off your circle for sixty seconds, and the unspoken rule of not eating each other. Under the new rule both tributes from the same district can live if there are the last two alive. Claudius pauses as if we're not getting it, and repeats it again.

The news sinks in. Both can live. Both of us can live. This is the best news I received since entering the arena. Before I can stop myself, I call out Peeta's name.


	19. Chapter 19

I clap my hands over my mouth, but the sound already escaped. The sky goes black, and the chorus of frogs begins to sing.

 _Stupid! What a stupid thing to do!_ I tell myself.

I wait, frozen, for the woods to come alive with the sound of assailants. Then I remember there is no one left. Peeta, my wounded boyfriend, is now my ally. Whatever void was left in my heart after the death Rue I can fill it, and I can finally sleep easier being near to Peeta. The thought of killing Peeta is even more unbearable now because if either one of us took the other's life we would be pariahs when we returned to District 12. In fact, I know if I was watching I'd loathe any tribute that didn't immediately ally with their district partner. Besides, it just makes sense to protect each other. And in my case- my district partner is my lover, and part of the Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12- it's a requirement if we want any more sympathetic sponsors.

"I'm coming baby." I say, without thinking.

But a part of me wonders if this is a ruse, or a legitimate rule change? Then I think about our act- star-crossed lovers- I wonder if that was Peeta's angle all along. Why else would the Gamemakers have made this unprecedented rule change? I have my doubts, but to have a shot winning, our "romance" must be so popular that condemning it would jeopardize the success of the Games. No thanks to me. All I've done is manage to not get Peeta killed. But whatever he has done in the arena, he must have the audience convinced it was to keep me alive. Shaking his head to keep me from entering the Cornucopia. Fighting Cato to let me escape. Even hooking up with the Careers must have been a move to protect me. Peeta, it turns out, has never been a danger to me.

The thought makes me smile. I drop my hands and hold my face up to the moonlight so the cameras can be sure to catch it.

So who's there left to be afraid of? Foxface? The boy tribute from her district is dead. She's operating alone, and at night. Her strategy has been to evade, not attack. I don't really think that, even if she heard my voice, she'd do anything but hope somebody else would kill me.

Then there's Thresh; who is a distinct threat. But I haven't seen him, not once, since the Games began. I think about how Foxface became alarmed when she heard a sound at the explosion site. But she didn't turn to the woods; she turn to whatever lies across from it. To that are of the arena that drops off into I don't know what. I almost feel certain that the person she ran from is Thresh, and that is his domain. He'd never hear me from there, and if he did, I'm too high up for somebody his size to reach.

So that leaves Cato and the girl from District 2, who are surely celebrating this rule. They're the only ones who benefit from it besides Peeta and myself. Do I run from them now, on the chance they heard me call Peeta's name?

 _No, let them come._ I think.

Let them come with the night-vision glasses and their heavy, branch-breaking bodies. Right into the range of my arrows. But I know they won't. If they didn't come during the day to my fire, they won't risk might be another trap at night. When they come it be on their terms, not because I let them know where I was.

 _So stay put Katniss, and get some sleep. You'll find him tomorrow._ I instruct myself, even though I want to go find Peeta now.

Going to Peeta would heal my heart after the death of Rue, but I need my sleep. I sleep until morning, but I'm cautious about my chances. The Careers might hesitate to attack me in a tree but they are capable of setting an ambush for me when I touch the ground. I prepare myself for the day; I eat a big breakfast, and secure my weapons while doing that. But when I set foot on the ground it seems peaceful and relatively undisturbed.

I will have to scrupulously careful. The Careers will know I'm going to be looking for Peeta. They very well may wait for me to find him before they make a move. If he's as badly wounded as Cato says, I'd be in the position to defend us both without any assistance. But if he's that incapacitated, how as he managed to stay alive? And how on earth will I find him?

I think of anything that might give me a clue as to where I might go to find Peeta, but nothing rings a bell. I think of the last time I saw him; coming into focus, telling me to run. Then Cato appears, with his sword drawn. And after I was gone, he wounded Peeta. But how did Peeta get away? Maybe he held out better against the tracker jacker venom than Cato. Maybe that variable allowed him to escape, but he had been stung too. So how far could Peeta have gotten, both wounded and filled with venom? And how has he stay alive all these days since? If the wound and the stings haven't killed, sure the thirst would have taken him by now.

And that's when I get my first clue to his whereabouts. He couldn't survive without water; I know that from my first few days here. There's the lake, but I find that an unlikely option because of the proximity to the Careers camp. A few spring-few pools, but you'd be a sitting duck at one of those. And then the stream. It flows from the camp Rue and I made all the way down to the lake and beyond. If he stuck to the stream he could change his location, and always be near water. Peeta could walk in the water and erase any tracks. He could even catch a fish or two.

Well it's a place to start. To confuse my enemies, I start a fire with plenty of green wood. Even if they think it's a ruse, I hope they think I hiding somewhere nearby. While in reality I'll be tracking Peeta.

The sun burns off the morning haze almost immediately and I can tell the day will be hotter than usual. The water is cool and pleasant on my bare feet as I head downstream. I'm tempted to call out Peeta's name as I go, to hear his soothing voice and seeing his face would work a serious number on me emotionally and mentally, but I decide against it. I will have to find him with my eyes, and one good ear. But he'll know I'm looking, right? He won't have so low opinion of me to think that I would ignore this new rule and keep to myself. Would he? He's very hard to predict, which would be interesting under different circumstances, but at the moment only provides an extra obstacle.

 _We were lovers before the rule change. Not only that I've been wanting to be alone with him; even if we're going to be on camera all across Panem._ I think.

It doesn't take long to reach the spot where I peeled off to go to the Career camp. There's still no sign of Peeta, which doesn't surprise me. I've been up and down this stretch at least three times since the tracker jacker attack. If Peeta were nearby, surely I would have some suspicion of it. The stream begins to curve to the left into the woods that are new to me. Muddy banks cover in tangled water plants lead to large rocks that increase in size until I begin to feel somewhat trapped. It would be no small matter to escape the stream now. Fighting off Cato, or Thresh as I climb over this rocky terrain. In fact, I've just about decided that I'm on the wrong track entirely, that a wound boy would be unable to navigate getting to and from this water source, when I see a bloody streak going down the curve of a boulder. It's long dried now, but the smeary lines running side to side suggest that- someone who is not in full control of his mental faculties- tried to wipe blood away.

 _Thanks babe!_ I think.

Hugging the rocks, I move in the direction of the bloodstain, searching for him. I find a few more bloodstains, one with a few strands of fabric glued to it, but no signs of life. I breakdown and say his name in hushed tones.

"Peeta! Peeta!"

Then a mockingjay lands on a scruffy tree and mimics my tones so I stop.

 _He must have move on._ I think as I climb back down to the stream.

My foot has broken the surface of the water when I hear a voice.

"You here to finish me off sweetheart?"

I whip around. I comes from my left, so I can't pick it up very well. And the voice was hoarse and weak. Still it must have been Peeta. Who else in the arena would call me sweetheart?

 _Coming from Haymitch that nickname drives me up the wall, but when Peeta calls me that I feel my body become warmer, my heart beats faster, and my knees start to weaken a little._ I think.

My eyes peruse the bank, but all I see is mud, the plants, and the base of the rocks.

"Peeta, where are you?" I whisper.

No answer. Could I have imagined it? No, I'm certain it was real, and close at hand.

"Peeta?" I say, as creep along the bank.

"Well don't step on me."

I jump back. His voice was right under my feet. Still there is nothing. Then his eyes open, the unmistakably blue in the brown mud and green leaves. I gasp and I'm reward with a hint of white teeth and as he laughs.

It's the final word in camouflage. Forget chucking weights around. Peeta should have gone into his private session with the Gamemakers and painted himself into a tree, a boulder, or a muddy bank full of weed.

"Close your eyes again." I say.

Peeta closes his mouth and eyes, and completely disappears. Most of what I judge to be his body is actually cover by a layer of mud and plants. His face and arms are so artfully disguised to be invisible.

"I guess all those hours of decorating cakes paid off." I say as I knee down beside him

"Frosting, the final defense of the dying." Peeta says with a smile.

"You're not going to die." I say firmly.

"Says who?" Peeta asks, his voice ragged.

"I do. Haven't you heard, we're on the same team now." I say.

"So I've heard. So nice of you to come what's left of me." Peeta says, as he opens his eyes.

"I would have been here sooner, but I got distracted screwing some other people's day up." I say as I pull out a water jug and give him a drink. "Cato cut you."

"Left leg. Up high." Peeta says.

"Let's get you in the stream and see what kind of wound you have." I say.

"Lean down a minute first. I need to tell you something." Peeta says

I lean over and put my good ear to his lips, which tickle when he whispers.

"Remember we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like."

I sit back and I let Peeta see me _bite_ my lip, like I'm looking forward to doing that and more.

 _Anytime, huh? I've been dying to hear those words since the rule change, or was it since he saved me from Cato. This boy makes me want to believe in happily ever after. I have bad intentions that involve this boy lying in the mud in front of me, and I intend to see them come true. Whether now, or in the future._ I think.

Peeta senses my emotional turmoil, but the look on my face lets him know that I plan to take him up on that in the very near future. I see that same smile he gave me after the opening ceremonies, and the butterflies return. The vulnerable girl has returned, and is looking forward to be held in the arms of her lover.

"I have to make up for a lot of things, so there will be a lot of kissing involved but given you current state it ain't happening. Let's get you cleaned up first, and then we can talk about that kiss." I say.

Peeta looks me in the eyes, and he realizes something. Something deeper, older, more painful.

"You're not talking about the Hunger Games are you?" Peeta asked.

I shake my head. Peeta is at a loss for words.

"I did what was necessary." Peeta says.

"It was more than that to me, Peeta." I say, as the tears begin to well up.

Peeta senses the coming storm, and changes the subject.

"How about getting me out of here? We're exposed here." Peeta says.

"That we are." I say, grateful for the subject change.

When I try to help him to the stream, all levity disappears. It's only two feet away, how hard can it be? Very hard when I realize that he can't move an inch on his own. He's so weak that the best he can do is not resist. I try to drag him, but despite the fact that he is doing all that he can do to stay quiet, sharp cries of pain escape him. Hearing Peeta's cries of pain are tearing me up inside. I do what I can to ease his pain, but I don't how. The mud and the plants seem to have imprisoned him, and I had to give a gigantic tug to break him free of their clutches. He's still to two feet from the water, lying there, teeth gritted, and tears cutting trails in the dirt on his face. I cry a tear or two myself as I watch my boyfriend struggle in pain.

"Look, Peeta the streams shallow here, so I'm going to roll you in here." I say, wiping my tears.

"Excellent." Peeta says.

I crouch down beside him. No matter what happens, I tell myself, don't stop until he's in the stream.

"On three." I say. "One. Two. Three."

I can only manage one full roll before I have to stop because of the horrible sound he's making. Seeing and hearing Peeta in pain is hurting me, but I push through. Now he's on the edge of the stream. Maybe this is better anyways.

"Change of plans; I'm not going to push you all the way in." I tell him.

 _Besides who knows is I'll be able to get him back out again if I roll him in?_ I think.

"No more rolling?" Peeta asks.

"No that's all done. Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me; also take this." I say, as I hand Peeta the knife.

"What do I need this for?" Peeta asks.

"I'm pretty certain you don't know how to use a bow, but give the revelation I had by your former running mates you're handy with a knife." I say.

Peeta swallows hard.

"You heard that?" Peeta asks, afraid to confront the subject.

"Yeah I did. I understand why you did it, but you could have let me in on the plan." I say.

"I wasn't sure how to proceed, so it was more believable that I left you in the dark." Peeta said.

I shake my head, and then prepare to tackle the task in front of me. He's so caked in mud and leaves I can't see his clothes. If he's wearing any clothes. The thought makes me hesitate a moment, but then I plunge right in. Naked bodies are no big deal in the arena, right?

I've got two water bottles, and Rue's water skin. I prop them up against the rocks in the stream so that two are always full, while I pour the third one over Peeta. It takes a while, but I finally get rid of enough mud to find his clothes. Peeta didn't even get a chance to ask, probably enjoying his impromptu bath, but I lean in and start making out with Peeta, and I'm doing my best to keep the tears from stream down my face. I break the kissing to continue cleaning up Peeta.

"Thanks." Peeta said.

"That was more for my benefit than yours." I say.

Peeta gives me a sideways glance, but lets it go. I gently unzip his jacket, unbutton his shirt, and ease them off of him. I see that his undershirt is plastered into his wounds that I'm going to have to cut it out, so I grab the other knife out of my bag. I have to cut away, and then drench him again to work it loose.

"Ah that feels good." Peeta says.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." I say, teasingly.

"That was a lot of work to get myself into this mess." Peeta says.

"Yeah I know, it's going to be an even bigger mess for me to get you out of." I say, with a grin on my face.

Peeta smiles because I'm able to banter with him while I'm cleaning him up. He's badly bruised with a long burn across his chest and four tracker jacker stings, if you count the on under his ear. But I feel better. This much I can heal. I decide to take care of his upper body to alleviate some of the pain, before I tackle whatever damage Cato did to his leg. Since treating his wounds seems pointless in what has become a puddle of mud, I manage to prop him up against a boulder.

"How did you know that I wasn't with the Careers?" Peeta asked.

"I saw it in your eyes and your body language." I say, as I wash away all traces of dirt from his skin and hair.

His skin looks pale in the sunlight, and he no longer looks strong and stocky.

"What do you mean by that?" Peeta asks.

Peeta winces as I dig the stingers out, but the minute I apply the leaves he lets out a sigh of relief.

"When I looked at you, you seemed defeated. It looked like your body had deflated because you failed to keep the Careers from finding me." I say.

I wash his shirt and jacket and spread them over the boulder. Then I apply the burn ointment on his chest.

"I knew you couldn't keep your hands off of me." Peeta says.

"You have no idea." I say, with a sly grin; I feel my cheeks begin to burn.

I notice something while we were talking. The layer of mud and the bottle of water have disguised the fact that he's burning with a fever. I dig through the first aid kit that I got from the boy from District 1 to find the pills that reduce your temperature. My mother actually breaks down and buys these on occasion when her home remedies fail.

"Swallow these." I say, and he obediently takes the pills. "You must be hungry?"

"Not really. It's funny, I haven't been hungry for days." Peeta says.

In fact, when I offer him the groosling, he wrinkles his nose at it. That's when I know how sick he is.

"Peeta, we need to get some food into you." I say.

"It won't do any good, it'll just come right back up." Peeta says.

The best I can do is to get him to eat a few bits of dried apple.

"Thanks. I'm much better now. Can I go to sleep now, Katniss?" He asks.

"Soon." I promise. "I need to take a look at your leg first."

Trying to be as gentle as I can I remove his boots, his socks, and then very slowly inch his pants off of him. I can see the cut in the fabric Cato's sword made over his thigh, but in no way does it prepare me for what lies beneath. The deep inflamed gash oozing blood and pus.

I want to run away. Disappear into the woods like I did the day they brought they brought the burn victim to our house. Go and hunt while my mother and Prim attend to what I don't have the courage and skill to face. I try to capture the calm demeanor that my mother assumes when handling particular bad cases.

"Pretty bad, huh?" Peeta says. He's watching me closely.

 _I'd being doing Peeta a disservice by lying to him, but it hurts to be honest with him._ I think.

"Compared to some of the people that are brought in from the mines this is child's play. Well maybe for my family." I say.

I leave out the part that I usually clear out of the house whenever she's treating anything worse than a cold. Come to think of it, I don't even much like to be around coughing. "First thing is to clean it well."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Peeta asks.

I hesitate at first, unsure how to answer. And then I tell Peeta the bad news without telling him the bad news.

"I don't think I'll be able to heal this naturally." I say.

"Meaning?" Peeta asks.

I try my hardest not to let the tears flow, but I tell Peeta with my eyes what I don't dare to give voice to.

 _If the Capitol doesn't intervene, you will die._

"Thank you." Peeta says, wiping the tears from my eyes.

"Welcome." I say, and then return to the task at hand, trying to get my mind off of Peeta's possible death.

I've left Peeta's undershorts on because they aren't in bad shape and I don't want to pull them over the swollen thigh and, all right, maybe the idea of him being naked makes me uncomfortable.

 _From the waist down I might be a little skittish, but the waist up is another story._ I think.

I think about Peeta's arm and abs as I continue to work him. My sister and mother aren't affected by nakedness, gives them no cause for embarrassment. Ironically, at this point in the Games, my little sister would be more useful than I would be for Peeta. I scoot my square sheet of plastic under him so I can wash down the rest of him. With each bottle I pour over him, the worse the wound looks. The rest of his lower body fared pretty well, except for one tracker jacker sting and a few small burns that I treat quickly. But the gash on his leg… how do I treat that?

"Why don't we give it some air…" I trail off.

"And then you'll patch it up?" Peeta asks.

He looks almost sorry for me, as if he knows how lost I am.

"That's right." I say. "In the meantime, you eat these."

I put a few dried pear halves in his hand, and then go back in the stream to wash the rest of his clothes. When they're flattened out and drying, I examine the contents of the first aid kit. It's pretty basic stuff. Bandages, fever pills, medicine to calm stomachs. Nothing to the caliber that I need to help Peeta.

"We're going to have to experiment." I admit.

I know tracker jacker leaves draw out infection, so I'll start with those. Within minutes of applying the chewed up leaves into the wounds, pus begins to run down the side of his leg. I tell myself this is a good thing and bite the inside of my cheek hard because my breakfast is threatening to make a reappearance.

"Katniss?" Peeta says. I meet his eyes knowing my face is a pale shade of green. He mouths the words "How about that kiss?"

I almost bust out laughing, and then think. I lean in and starting kissing Peeta, and my body calms down a bit. When I part from the kiss, I start taking deep breaths.

 _His lips are hot. The fever must really be up there._ I think.

"Something wrong?" Peeta asks.

"I… I'm no good at this. I'm not my mother. I have no idea what I'm doing and I hate pus." I say. "Euh!"

I allow myself a groan as I rinse away the first round of leaves and apply a second.

"Euuuh!" I exclaim.

 _I bet mother and Prim are having a few laughs at my expense._ I think, with a snicker.

"What." Peeta asks

"I imagine my mother and Prim are having a good laugh at my expense." I say.

"How do you hunt?" Peeta asks, baffled.

"Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this. For all I know I could be killing you." I said.

"Could you speed it up a little?" Peeta asked.

"No. Shut up and eat your peas." I say.

After three applications and what seems like a bucket of pus, the wound does look better. Now that the swelling has gone down, I can see how deep Cato's sword cut. Right down to the bone.

"What next, Dr. Everdeen?" Peeta asked.

"Maybe I'll put some burn ointment on it. I think it helps with the infection. And wrap it up?" I say.

I do the whole thing seems a lot more manageable, covered in clean white cotton. Although, against the sterile bandage, the hem of his undershorts looks like it's teeming with contagion.

"Here cover yourself with this." I say as I pull out Rue's pack.

"I don't care if you see me." Peeta says.

"There's a lot of things I wanted to say, and do with you Peeta; doing and saying those things here is not what I wanted. You're just like the rest of my family. I care alright." I say, as I turn my back and look at the stream until the undershorts splash into the current.

 _He must be feeling a little better if he can throw._ I think.

"You know, you're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person." Peeta says I as I beat his shorts between to rocks. "Maybe I should have let you have given Haymitch a bath."

I wrinkle my nose at the memory.

 _Euh, gross!_ I think.

"What has Haymitch sent you?" I ask.

"Nothing. You?" Peeta asks.

"Burn ointment." I say sheepishly. "Oh, and some bread."

"I always knew you were his favorite." I Peeta says.

 _I thought I heard an undercurrent of resentment in Peeta's voice. Then again he has been out here by himself without help until I came along._ I think.

"Please, he can't stand being in the same room as me." Peeta says.

"Because you're just alike." Peeta mutters.

 _Yep, there is resentment there._ I think.

I try to push it out of my mind because this isn't the time to be insulting Haymitch, even if it's my first impulse.

"Sorry." I say.

"Don't apologize." Peeta says.

"Okay. Go ahead and take a nap." I say.

"Thanks." Peeta says.

As Peeta dozes off I give him another kiss, and he smiles, subconsciously. I give a weak smile, and then wait for his clothes to dry, but by late afternoon I don't dare to wait any longer.

"Peeta, we've got to go now." I say.

"Go?" Peeta asks. "Go where?"

"It's just like you said earlier we're exposed out here. Away from here. Downstream maybe. Somewhere we can hide until you're stronger." I say.

I help him dress, putting his socks and shoes in my pack. He squats down, and I get under his left arm. I wrap my right arm around his waist, and wrap his left arm around my neck holding his hand.

"On three we're going to stand, got?" I ask.

"Yeah." Peeta says.

"One. Two. Three." I say.

When Peeta puts weight on his leg, the color drains from his face.

"This is going to be rough on me, but try to rest as much weight on me." I say.

"Are you sur-"

"Don't argue with me Peeta." I snap. "Sorry."

All Peeta does is give me a soft kiss on my cheek, which causes me to blush. We hobble along for about fifty yards downstream from our current position, and I can tell he's going to black out. I sit him down on the bank, push his head between his knees, and rub his back as I survey the area. Some of the rocks form cave like structures. Those will have to do for now, I would love to get him into a tree, but that won't happen. As I rub his back something in me snaps; I take in his body: broad shoulders, muscular back and arms. As if under some spell I kiss Peeta's neck.

"Enjoying yourself?" Peeta asks.

My rubbing has turned into a massage.

"Yes." I purr into his ear.

"I knew you couldn't keep your hands off of me. Not only that, you were fantasizing about." Peeta says, teasing me.

"What." I say.

I come around and look Peeta in his eyes. I feel my cheeks burning.

 _Busted!_ I think.

"You are blushing! You were fantasizing about-"

"Peeta, baby; shut up. You may be sick and dying, but it's not beneath me to swat your arm." I say, playfully.

Peeta was taken back by me calling him baby. To be honest, I'm not. It felt natural to call him that.

"Yes, honey." Peeta says.

I felt giddy after hearing him call me honey, that I playfully stick my tongue out at him.

"I have places for that tongue." Peeta says.

I'm in shock that Peeta made that comment. If he would have said that to the girl on the train, he would have been punched; but this new girl. The vulnerable country girl just takes it in stride.

"Really!" I say. "Care to show me?"

"Oh my god, Katniss! It's not that kind of show!" Peeta exclaims.

"Tease." I purr.

"I'm your tease." Peeta shot back.

"In many ways." I say coyly.

It was Peeta's turn to be in shock.

"Really!" Peeta says.

I wiggle my eyebrows at Peeta.

"Tease." Peeta says.

"And you love it." I say.

We both freeze at the phrase that left my mouth. We both know it's true, but I think we were both expecting Peeta to say that, or something like that before me. All Peeta does is make out with me. After we pull away from the kiss, I remember the cave like structures; there was one that was about twenty yards away, above the stream. When Peeta is able to stand, I half-guide, half-carry him up to the cave. Tactically I would look for a better place, but this will have to do because my ally is shot. Paper white, panting, and, even though it's only just cooling off, he's shivering.

I cover the floor of the cave in a layer of pine needles, unroll my sleeping bag, and tuck him in. I get a couple of pills and some water into him when he's not looking, but he refuses to eat even the fruit Then he just lies there his eyes trained on my face as I build a sort of blind out of vines to conceal the mouth of the cave. The result is unsatisfactory. An animal might not question it, but a human would see hands had manufactured it quickly enough. I tear it down in frustration.

"Katniss." Peeta says. I go over to him and brush the hair back from his eyes. "Thanks for finding me."

"You would have done the same thing for me." I say.

His forehead is burning up. Like the medicine is having no effect at all. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I scared he might die. I do all I can to fight tears because if Peeta dies my victory will be worthless.

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back-" he begins.

"Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing." I say, sensing Peeta trying to admit defeat.

"I know. But just in case I don't-" he tries to continue.

"No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it." I say, putting a finger to his lip.

I feel the tears beginning to build.

"But I-" He insists.

I lean forward and kiss him, stopping the words; I mount Peeta so I can deepen the kiss, and for affect. I don't want to think about Peeta leaving me here in this arena by myself. I don't think I will be able to move on with my life, even with the help of my family; I don't think I will be able to move past this. I feel the heat of the fever in Peeta's lips. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him.

"You are not going to die. I forbid it. There are thing in this world that are bad, but the loss of you… I don't even want to contemplate it. All right?" I ask.

"All right." He whispers.

I step out into the cool air to shed tears, but I see the silver parachute almost immediately. My fingers quickly undo the tie in hopes of medicine to heal Peeta's leg. Instead I find a hot pot of broth.

Haymitch couldn't be sending a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth.

 _What exactly does he want from me? I'm holding up my end of the relationship. What else am I supposed to do? Wait a minute._ I think.

I turn back to him and realize that I can't go hunting and leave Peeta alone in his current condition. The true message couldn't be any clearer.

 _Hold on, sweetheart! Help is coming!_

I have no choice but to follow Haymitch's lead, and pray that the Capitol will come through. If they made up this new rule change they won't just let Peeta go out like this. That being said I have to keep the romance alive until they make the medicine to save Peeta's life. I smile at the thought of really getting into the role of lover. Although I have no lovers before Peeta, but I've done a good job winging it so far. I think of my parents. How my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. How my mother face would light up when she heard his boots at the door. I almost clutch my heart when I think of how she almost stopped living when he died; as if I'm living it right now.

"Peeta!" I say, trying for that special tone that my mother only used with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he could sit there and stare at me forever. He's great at this stuff.

"Look what Haymitch sent you." I say, holding up the pot.


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: I'm enjoying the views, reviews, and the love. I'm writing in response to the readers wanting me to update faster: I appreciate your enthusiasm for wanting me to get another chapter submitted, but I'm in the middle of writing four other stories. I'm try to write my all stories with as much credibility as possible, while making my characters as human, and relatable as possible too. So I apologize for making you wait for the next chapter, and I greatly appreciate you support. And to those people wondering, yes I plan on putting my spin own on Catching Fire and Mockingjay._

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and lots of kissing.

 _I could kiss his lips all day._ I think.

"This is nice." Peeta says.

"What is?" I ask.

"You feeding me." Peeta says.

"You feed me once." I say.

Peeta pauses a moment before speaking again.

"I think about that all the time." Peeta says.

The look on Peeta's face when he said that he thinks about when he tossed me that bread tells me that a sad memory is coming, or a regret.

"How I tossed you that bread." Peeta says.

"Peeta." I say, making a half-hearted plea with Peeta to not beat himself up over the incident.

"I should have gone to you. I should have just gone out in the rain and-" Peeta continue.

"Save your strength. Lord only knows how long we're going to be here." I say.

I kiss Peeta again; I can taste the broth on his lip, and I can feel the fever in them as well. Sip by sip, Peeta finishes the pot. I let him drift off to sleep, and I take care of my needs; wolfing down a supper of groosling and roots while I watch the daily report in the sky. No new causalities, but Peeta and I have given the audience a rather entertaining day with our antics earlier. So maybe the Gamemakers will allow us a peaceful night.

My instincts are telling me find a tree to hide in, but with Peeta in his current condition I don't have the heart or will to abandon him. I left the scene of his hiding place on the bank of the untouched- how can I conceal it? - seeing as how we are a scant fifty yards downstream. I put my glasses on, and nock an arrow to my bow, and settle down to keep watch.

The temperature drops rapidly, and soon I'm chilled to the bone. Eventually I give in and slide into the sleeping bag with Peeta. It's toasty warm and snuggle down grateful until I realize that it's more than warm, it's overly hot because the bag is reflecting back his fever. Whatever plans I had for enjoying the moment just went out the window; I check his forehead and find it burning and dry. I don't know what to do. Leave him in the bag and hope the excessive heat breaks his fever? Take him out and hope the night air cools him off? I end up just dampening a strip of bandage and placing it on his forehead. It seems weak, but I'm afraid to do anything too drastic.

I spend half the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Peeta trying not to dwell on his condition. I'm trying stay alert and vigilant, and not dwell on how Peeta is slipping away from me. Seeing him like this, sick and dying; as opposed to healthy and full of life, hurts me. Looking at Peeta and thinking about the consequences of his death would have deeper repercussions than his callous talks of his life being expendable.

 _Peeta you have to fight. I need you to fight; I can't do this on my own._ I think.

When the sky turn rosy, I notice the sheen of sweat on his upper lip and discover that his fever has broken. He isn't back to normal, but it has come down a few degrees. Last night when I was gathering vines, I came upon a bush of Rue's berries. I strip off the fruit, and mash them up in the pot with cold water. Peeta's struggling to get up when I reach the cave.

"I woke up and you were gone. I was worried about you." Peeta says.

I try not to laugh, but a snicker escapes my lips as I gently ease him back down.

"You were worried about me? Have you taken a look at yourself lately?" I ask.

"I thought Cato and Clove had found you. They like to hunt at night." Peeta says, seriously.

"Clove, which one is that?" I ask.

"The girl from District 2. She's still alive, right?" He asks.

"Yes, there's just them, us, Thresh and Foxface." I say.

Peeta shoots me a funny glance.

"That's the nickname I gave the girl from District 5." I say.

"I gave her that same nickname, too." Peeta says.

"How do you feel?" I ask.

"Better than yesterday. This is an enormous improvement over the mud." Peeta says. "Clean clothes, medicine, a sleeping bag… and you." Peeta says.

When I hear Peeta is glad for my presence I reach out to touch him, not because of the staged romance, but because I want to. I reach out to touch his cheek, but Peeta catches my hand and presses it to his lips. The butterflies return and I feel myself become flush. I've seen my father do this very thing to my mother and I wonder where he picked it up. Certainly not from his father and the witch. I put the pot on the ground, and lean in and kiss Peeta.

"No more kisses until you have eaten." I say after I break the kiss.

Peeta has a look of satisfaction on his face. We get him propped up against the wall, and he obediently eats the berry mush I feed him. I try to feed him some groosling, and he refuses it again.

"You didn't sleep?" Peeta asked.

"I'm all right, I'm more upset I that couldn't enjoy sharing the sleeping bag with you." I say, with mock indignation in my voice.

"Why?" Peeta asks, dumbfounded.

"It was roasting in that thing last night." I say.

"Sorry." Peeta says.

I smile at Peeta, and then give him another kiss.

"Sleep now. I'll keep watch, and wake you if anything happens." Peeta says.

I hesitate at first.

"Katniss, you can't stay up forever." Peeta says.

He's got a point there. I'll have to sleep eventually, might as well do it while he is relatively alert and we have daylight on our side.

"Alright, but only for a few hours. Then wake me up." I say.

It's too warm for the sleeping bag now, so I smooth it out on the on the cave floor and lie down; one hand on my loaded bow in case I have to shoot at a moment's notices. Peeta sits beside me leaning against the wall, with his bad leg stretch out before him, his eyes on the outside world

"Go to sleep." He says softly, his hand brushing a few loose strands of hair off my forehead.

The gesture is comforting and natural. I don't want him to stop, and he doesn't. Before I fall asleep Peeta leans down and kisses my temple, which draws a smile from me, and then he returns to stroking my hair.

Too long. I've slept too long. I know from the moment I open my eyes that we're into the afternoon. Peeta's right beside me, his position unchanged. I sit up, feeling somehow defensive, but better rested than I've been in days.

"Peeta you were supposed to wake me after a couple of hours." I say.

"For what? Nothing's going on here." Peeta says. "Beside I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves you looks a lot."

This, of course, brings on a scowl that makes him grin. I lean in kiss his lips, as I reach up and caress his cheek. Peeta is hot as a coal stove. He claims he has been drinking, but the containers are nearly full. I give Peeta a scathing look for lying to me, but I make him take some medicine and drink two quarts of water. Then I tend to his minor wounds: the burns and the stings; which are showing improvement. I steel myself and unwrap his leg.

My heart drops into my stomach. It's worse, much worse. There's no more pus in evidence, but the swelling has increased and the tight shiny skin is inflamed. Then I see red streaks starting to crawl up his leg. Blood poisoning. Unchecked it will kill him for sure. My chewed up leaves and ointment won't make a dent in it. We'll need a strong anti-infection drugs from the Capitol. I can't imagine the cost of such a potent medicine. If Haymitch pooled every donation from every sponsor would he have enough? I doubt it. Gifts go up in price as the Games go on. What buys a full meal on day one, buys crackers on day twelve. And the kind of medicine Peeta needs is a premium from the beginning.

"There's more swelling, but the pus is gone." I say, in an unsteady voice.

"I know what blood poisoning is Katniss." Peeta says. "Even if my mother is not a healer."

"I don't have the necessary items to heal this Peeta. I would say outlasting the others, but that isn't an option here." I say.

"You don't think I can outlast them?" Peeta asks, in dismay.

"I'm going lay this out for you plain and simple: We will have to fight a Career; either Cato or Clove. Even if Thresh was to kill one and wound the other, we will still have a tough fight ahead of us. Surviving isn't going to help us, we need to go on the offensive. We need medicine to heal your leg." I say.

"Do you have a better idea?" Peeta asked.

"As of right now, no." I say.

"Then survival is my only option." Peeta says.

"I know that Peeta. You have to survive until help arrives, but we are going have to do more than just survive." I say.

"And if help doesn't come?" Peeta asks.

"Don't start that, again!" I exclaim. "I won't entertain thought of you dying, and to have all the time I spent trying to get you back on your feet go to waste!"

"You might want to prepare yourself just-" Peeta says.

"I know what you are trying to do Peeta, and it pisses me off to no end." I say sternly.

"That doesn't mean it won't happen!" Peeta exclaims.

"You have to eat to keep your strength up." I say, changing the subject.

"Don't light a fire." Peeta says. "It's not worth it."

"We'll see." I say, as I exit the cave.

As I take the pot down to the stream, I'm struck by how brutally hot it is. I swear the Gamemakers are progressively ratcheting the up the temperature during the day, and sending it plummeting at night. The heat of the sunbaked stones by the stream gives me an idea. Maybe I won't have to light a fire.

I settle down on a big flat rock halfway between the cave and the stream. After purifying a half a pot of water, I put in a few egg size hot stones to the water. I'm the first to admit I'm not much of a cook. But since soup mainly involves tossing everything in a pot and waiting, it's one of my better dishes. I mince groosling until its mush, and mash some of Rue's roots. Fortunately both have been roasted already so they mostly need to be heated up.

Between the sunlight and the rocks, the water is already warm. I put in the meat and roots, swap in fresh rocks, and go find some green to spice it up a little. Before long I find some chive growing at a base of some rocks. Perfect. I chop them very fine and add them to the pot, switch out the rocks again, put the lid on, and let the whole thing stew.

I've seen a few signs of game around, but I don't feel comfortable leaving Peeta alone while I hunt, so I rig half a dozen snares and hope I get lucky. I wonder about the other tributes, how they're managing now that their supplies have been destroyed. At least three of them, Clove, Cato, and Foxface, had been relying on it. Probably not Thresh though. I've got a feeling he must share some of Rue's knowledge on how to feed yourself off the land. Are they fighting each other? Looking for us? Maybe one of them has locate us, and is just waiting for the right moment to attack us. The idea sends me rushing back to the cave.

Peeta is stretched out on the sleeping bag in the shade of the rocks. Although he brightens a bit when I come in, it's clear he feels miserable. I put cool cloths on his head, but they warm up almost as soon as they touch his skin.

"Do you want something?" I ask.

"No." He says. "Thank you. Wait, yes. Tell me a story."

"A story? About what?" I ask.

I'm not much for telling stories. It's kind of like singing. But every once and a while Prim wheedles one out of me.

"Something happy. Tell me about the happiest day you can remember." Says Peeta.

Something between a sigh and a huff of exasperation leaves my mouth. A happy story? This will require a lot more effort than making soup. There are two people that made me very happy: the one is in front of me, and the other one is already dead. Though Peeta isn't too far behind my father. I wipe my eyes trying to hide the tears that are starting to form.

 _I don't think I should tell the crowd how Peeta and I are already dating, to an extent; that would cause more harm than good. I don't want to dredge up the memories of my dead father; that would definitely be detrimental._ I think.

My happiest memories are not an option right now. I try to rack my brain for a good memory. Most of them involve Gale and me hunting, and somehow I don't think that will sit well with Peeta and the audience. That leaves Prim.

"Did I ever tell you about how I got Prim's goat?" I ask.

Peeta shakes head, and looks at me expectantly. So I begin, but carefully. Because my words are going out all over Panem. And while people have no doubt put two and two together that I hunt illegally; I don't want to hurt Gale, Greasy Sae, the butcher, or even the Peacekeepers back home who are my customers by publicly announcing they are breaking the law, too.

Here's the real story of how I got the money for Prim's goat, Lady. It was a Friday evening, the day before Prim's Tenth birthday in late May. As soon as school ends, Gale and I hit the woods, because I want to get enough to trade for a present for Prim. Maybe some new cloth for a dress or a hairbrush. Our snares had done well enough and the woods flush with green, but this was really no more than our average Friday-night haul. I was disappointed, even though Gale said we'd be sure to do better tomorrow. We were resting a moment by a stream when we saw him. A young buck, probably a yearningly by his size. His antlers were just growling in, still small and coated in velvet. Poised to run but unsure of us, unfamiliar with humans. Beautiful.

Less beautiful perhaps when the two arrows caught him, one in the neck, the other in the chest. Gale and I had shot at the same time. The buck had tried to run but stumbled, Gale's knife slit his throat before he had knew what had happened. Momentarily, I feel a pang at killing something so fresh and innocent. And then my stomach rumbles at the thought of all that fresh and innocent meat.

A deer! Gale and I have only brought down three in all. The first one, a doe that had her injured leg somehow, almost didn't count. But we knew from that experience not to go dragging the carcass into the Hob. It had cause chaos with people bidding on parts and actually trying to hack off the pieces themselves. Greasy Sae intervened and sent us with our deer to the butcher, but not before it had been badly damaged, hunks of meat missing, the hide riddle with holes. Although everybody paid up fairly, it had lowered the value of the kill.

This time we waited until dark, and slipped under the hole in the fence near the butcher. We may have been known hunters, but dragging a 150 pound deer through the streets of District 12 during the daytime would have been us practically us rubbing it in the faces of the officials.

The butcher, a short, chunky woman named Rooba answered the door when we knocked. You don't haggle with Rooba. She gives you one price, and you can take it or leave, but it's a fair price. We took her offer on the deer and she threw in a couple of venison steaks we could pick up after butchering. Even with the money divided into two, neither Gale nor I have held so much at one time. We decide to surprise our families with the money and the meat at the end of the day tomorrow.

This is how I really got the money for the goat, but I told Peeta that I sold an old silver locker of my mother's. That can't hurt anybody. Then I pick up the story in the late afternoon of Prim's birthday.

Gale and I went to the market on the square so I could buy dress materials. As I was running my fingers over a length of blue cotton cloth, something caught my eye. There's an old man who keeps a small herd of goats on the other side of the Seam. I don't know his real name, everyone just calls him the Goat Man. His joints are swollen and bent at painful angles, and he's got a hacking cough that proves he spent years in the mines. But he's lucky. Somewhere along the way he saved up enough for these goats and now has something to do in his old age besides slowly starve to death. He's filthy and impatient, but the goats are clean and their milk is rich if you can afford it.

One of the goats, a white one with black patches, was lying down in the cart. It was easy to see why. Something, probably a dog, had mauled her shoulder and an infection had set in. It was bad, the Goat Man had to hold her up to milk her. But I thought I knew someone who could fix her up.

"Gale." I whispered. "I want that goat for Prim."

Owning a nanny goat can change your life in District 12. The animals can life off of anything, and the Meadow's a perfect feeding place, and they can give up to four quarts of milk a day. To drink, to make cheese, to sell. It's not even against the law.

"She's hurt pretty bad." Gale said. "We better take a close look."

We went over and bought a cup of milk to share, and then stood over the goat as if idly curious.

"Let her be." The man said.

"Just browsing." Gale said.

"Well browse faster. She goes to the butcher soon. Hardly anyone will buy her milk, and then they only pay half price." He said.

"What's the butcher giving for her?" I ask.

"Hang around and see." The man shrugged.

I turned and saw Rooba coming across the square towards us.

"Lucky thing you showed, the girl had her eye on your goat." The man said.

"Not if she's spoken for." I said carelessly.

Rooba looked me up and down and frowned at the goat.

"She's not. Look at that shoulder. I bet half the carcass is too rotten even for sausage." Rooba said.

"What?" The man said. "We had a deal."

"We had a deal for an animal with a few teeth marks. Not that thing. Sell her to the girl if she's stupid enough to take her." Rooba said.

As she marched off, I caught her wink.

The Goat Man was mad, but still wanted to get the goat off his hands. It took us half an hour to agree on a price. Quite the crowd had gather by then to hand out opinions. It was an excellent deal if the goat lived; I'd had been robbed if she died. People took sides in the argument, but I took the goat.

Gale offered to carry the goat. I think he wanted to the see the look on Prim's face as much as I did. In a moment of complete giddiness I bought a pink ribbon and tied it around her neck. Then we hurried home. I begin to tear up at the memory of Prim seeing Lady for the first time. You should have seen her reaction when she saw us walk in with the goat. Remember this is the girl who wept to save that awful old cat, Buttercup. She was so excited that she began laughing and crying at the same time. My mother was less sure, seeing that injury, but the pair of them went to work on it, grinding up herbs and coaxing brews down the animal's throat.

"They sound like you." Peeta said, wiping my tears.

I had almost forgotten he was there.

"Oh no, Peeta they work magic. That thing couldn't have di-" I cut myself off.

It seems harsh to say an animal couldn't have died even if it wanted too, and here's Peeta dying in my incompetent hand.

"You can say it." Peeta says.

'Forgive me, but I don't want that image in my head." I say.

"Don't worry. I'm not trying." Peeta jokes, but I don't find it funny. "Finish the story."

"That's the end of the story. Only I remember that night, Prim insisted on sleeping with Lady on a blanket next to the fire. And just before they drifted off, the goat licked her on the cheek, as if giving her a good night kiss. It was really mad about her." I say.

"Was it still wearing the pink ribbon?" He asked.

"I think so; why?" I asked.

"I'm trying to get the picture." He says thoughtfully. "I can see why that day made you happy."

"Really, how?" I asked.

"I see the lasting joy you gave your sister you love so much, you took her place in the reaping." Peeta said, drily.

"She wasn't too thrilled with when I did it." I say, my emotions starting to reach a boiling point.

 _Peeta may be able to read me, but he missed the lie that I just told him, sort of. The day I gave Lady to Prim was a happy day, but I was happy for Prim; I wasn't happy for myself. A lot of my happy memories are me being happy for others. The truly happy memories that involve me are with my father and Peeta._ I think.

"Are you okay?" Peeta asks.

I become aware of the tears streaming down my face. I don't want to tell Peeta the truth. Not yet. I don't want to face these emotions; I want to compartmentalize and bury them, but knowing Peeta he won't let me. The sounds of the trumpets startle me. I ignore Peeta's question for the time being, get to my feet, and head to the mouth of the cave; I don't want to miss a single syllable. It's my new best friend, for the time being, Claudius Templesmith; and as expected we're invited to a feast. We're not that hungry and I actually wave off his offer in indifference when he says.

"Now hold on. Some of you are already declining my offer, but this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately."

 _I do need something desperately. I need something to heal Peeta's leg, but I already know how this is going to play out with Peeta._ I think, I can already feel the anger beginning to burn in my chest.

"Each of you will find something in a backpack, marked with your district number at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you this will be your last chance." Claudius says.

There's nothing else, just words hanging in the air. I feel every fiber in my being set ablaze with anger and sadness. I jump as Peeta grabs my shoulder from behind.

"No." Peeta says. "You're not risking your life for me."

"Kind of odd that you have no problem risking you're life for me, but when I need to do it for you refuse; kind of hypocritical if you ask me." I say, as I help Peeta back to bed.

"I did it for the right reason." Peeta says.

"And what, this isn't the right reason, or do you truly have a death wish?" I ask, the anger starting to reach critical mass.

"What does it accomplish if you go out there and die?" Peeta ask.

"Your death is all but guaranteed if I stay here." I say.

"Tell me something I don't know." Peeta says.

"I'm going, and you can't stop me!" I exclaim, the anger radiating off of me in waves.

"I can follow. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone will find me. And then I will be dead for sure." He says.

"You won't make it a hundred yards from here on that leg." I say.

"Then I'll drag myself." He says. "You go, then I'm going too."

He's just stubborn enough and maybe just strong enough to do it. Come howling after me in the woods. Even if a tributes doesn't find him, something else might. I'd probably have to wall him up in the cave just to go myself. And who knows what the exertion would do to him?

"What am I supposed to do? Just sit here and watch you die?" I ask.

I've been around him long enough to know that he is willing to let it come down to that. The crowd would hate me if I didn't try to save him. And no matter how frustrating he can be, I would hate myself if I didn't even try.

"I won't die. I promise. If you promise not to go." Peeta says.

We're at a stalemate. No matter what I say, he won't budge.

"Then you'll have to do as I say. Drink your water, wake me when I tell you, and every bite of the soup even if it's disgusting!" I snap at him.

"Agreed. Is it ready?" He asks.

"Wait here." I say, as I go to retrieve the pot.

Even though the sun is still up, the air has gone cold. I was right about the Gamemakers adjust the temperature. I wonder if what somebody desperately needs is a good blanket. The soup is still nice and warm in its iron pot. It doesn't even taste that bad, too.

Peeta eats without complaint, even scraping out the pot to show enthusiasm. He rambles on about how delicious it is, which should be encouraging if you don't know what fever does to people. He's like listening to Haymitch before the alcohol has soaked him into incoherence. I give him another dose of fever medicine before he goes off his head completely.

As I go down to the stream to wash up, all I can think is that he's going to die if I don't get to that feast. I'll keep him going for a couple of days, and then the infection will go to his heart, or his brain or his lungs and he'll be gone. And then I'll be here all alone. Again. Waiting for the others.

I'm so lost in thought that I almost miss the parachute that was right in from of me. Then I spring after it, yanking it from the water, tearing the silver fabric off to retrieve the vial. Haymitch has done it! He has gotten the medicine- I don't know how, probably persuaded a gaggle of romantic fools to sell all their jewels- and I can save Peeta! It's such a tiny vial though. It must be very strong to cure somebody as ill as Peeta. Ripples of doubt run through me. I uncork the vial and take a deep sniff.

My spirits fall at the sickly sweet scent. I could taste it, but I know from experience that the vial contains sleep syrup. Everybody in District 12 has had a dose of it one time or another, and my mother keeps a vial on hand for when they bring hysterical patients as to stitch up a bad wound, or to help some sleep at night if they are in pain, or to quiet their minds. Okay what is Haymitch trying to tell me here. He wouldn't send this unless he has a plan for it. A vial this size could knock Peeta out… it could knock Peeta out for a day, which is more than enough time.

 _Thanks Haymitch._ I think.

I mash up a handful of berries to mask the taste, and throw some mint in there for good measure. Then I head back up to the cave.

"I brought you a treat. I found another patch of berries downstream." I say

Peeta opens his mouth for the first bite without hesitation. He swallows and frowns slightly.

"They're very sweet." He says.

"Yes, they're sugar berries. My mother makes them all the time. Haven't you had them before?" I say, poking the next spoonful into his mouth.

"No." he says, almost puzzled. "But they taste familiar. Sugar berries?"

"They only grow in the wild, so you can't get them in the market." I say.

Another spoonful goes down. One more to go.

"They're sweet as syrup." He says, taking the last spoonful.

"Syrup." He says.

His eyes widen when he realizes the truth. I clamp hand over his mouth and nose hard, forcing him to swallow. He tries to make himself to vomit the stuff up, but it's too late; he's already losing consciousness. Even as he fades away, I can see in his eyes that what I have done is unforgivable.

I lean back on my heels with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction. A stray berry stains his chin and I wipe it away.

"I'm sorry, babe." I say, kissing Peeta's cheek; even though he can't hear me.

It doesn't matter; the rest of Panem can.

 _A/N: Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays._


	21. Chapter 21

In the remaining hours before nightfall, I gather rocks and do my best to camouflage the opening of the cave. It's a slow and arduous process, but after a lot of sweating and shifting things around, I'm pleased with my work. The cave now appears to be part of the large pile of rocks, like so many in the vicinity. I can still crawl in to Peeta through a small opening, but it's undetectable from the outside. That's good because I'll need to share the sleeping bag again tonight. Also, if I don't make it back from the feast Peeta will be hidden, but not entirely imprisoned. Although I doubt he can hold on much longer without medicine. If I die at the feast, District 12 isn't likely to have a victor.

I make a meal out of the smaller, bonier fish that inhabit the stream around here, fill every water container and purify it, and clean weapons. I've nine arrows left in all. I leave one knife with Peeta, and keep the other one with me. The knife might help, but Peeta was right about camouflage be his last line of defense. Here are some things that I'm fairly certain of. That at least Cato, Clove, and Thresh will be on hand when the feast starts. I'm not sure about Foxface since direct confrontation isn't her style or forte. She's even smaller than I am and unarmed, unless she pick up some weapons recently. She'll probably be hanging somewhere nearby, seeing what she can scavenge. But the other three… I'm going to have my hands full. My ability to kill at distance is my great asset, but I'm going right into the thick of it to get that backpack, the one with the number _12_ on it that Claudius Templesmith mentioned.

I watch the sky, hoping for one less opponent at dawn, but nobody appears tonight. Tomorrow there will be faces up there. Feast always results in fatalities.

I crawl into the cave, secure my glasses, and curl up next to Peeta. Luckily I had that good long sleep today. I have to stay awake. I don't think anyone will attack our cave tonight, but I can't risk missing dawn.

So cold, so bitterly cold tonight. As if the Gamemakers have sent an infusion of cold air across the arena, which may be exactly what they have done. I lie next to Peeta in the bag, trying to absorb every bit of his fever heat. It's strange to be so physically close to someone who's so distant; I wrap my arms around his waist in an attempt to alleviate some of the distance, even though it's pointless. I haven't held him in my arms since we entered the arena. Peeta might as well be back at the Capitol, or in District 12, or on the moon right now, he'd be no harder to reach. I've never felt lonelier since the Games began.

 _Just accept it will be a bad night._ I tell myself.

I try not to, but I can't help but think of mom and Prim, wondering if they will sleep a wink tonight. At this late stage in the Games, with an important event like the feast, school will probably be canceled.

My family can watch on that static-filled old clunker of a television at home or join the crowds in the square to watch on the big, clear screens. They'll have privacy at home, but support in the Square. People will give a kind word, a bite of food if the can spare it. I wonder if the baker has sought them out, especially now that Peeta and I are a team, has he made good on his word to keep Prim's belly full.

Spirits must be running high in District 12. We rarely have anyone to root for at this point in the Games. Surely, people are excited about Peeta and me, especially now that _we're_ , even if it isn't official yet, together. If I close my eyes I can imagine their shouts at the screen, urging us on. I see their facings, Greasy Sae, Madge and even the Peacekeepers that buy my meat, cheering for us.

And Gale. I know him. He won't be shouting and cheering. But he'll be watching, every moment, every twist and turn, willing me to come home.

 _A stupid thought, but I wonder if he is hoping Peeta will make it as well._ I think.

Gale isn't my boyfriend, and I'm going to have to tell him the truth that there is nothing between us. Objectively Gale is a handsome man, no doubt; but I don't think we would be able to tolerate each other if we broke up, and I would hate to lose my hunting partner. Then again will I have to hunt if I win the Games? I can still hunt to help Gale and his family, but only if I can mend the gap that my relationship with Peeta has no doubt cause. The morning of the reaping he mention that we could run away together. Was that just a practical calculation of our chances of our survival away from the district? Or was that something more?

 _If I get the chance after the Games I'm going to tell Gale the truth. That I willingly gave into these emotions and feelings that I have for Peeta, and that I feel nothing for him. Gale deserves that much, I don't want to string him along and hurt him._ I think.

Through a crack in the rocks I watch the moon cross the sky. At which I judge that I'm about three hours from dawn, and I begin my final preparation. I'm careful to leave Peeta the water and the med kit right beside him. Nothing else will be of much use if I don't return, and even these will prolong his life for a short time. After some debate, I strip him of his jacket and zip it up over my own. Not that he needs it anyways; in the sleeping bag with his fever, and during the day, if I'm not there to remove it, he'll be roasting in it. My hands are already stiff from the cold, so I take a pair of Rue's socks, cut holes for my fingers and thumb, and pull them on. It helps, a little. I fill her small pack with a water bottle, some food, and bandages; tucking the knife in my belt and grab my bow and arrows. I stare at Peeta one last time, wishing he was still awake to wish me good luck, but oh well. And yet again for my own benefit, than that of the people back at the Capitol or in District 12, I give Peeta a long lingering, kiss; and all I feel is the fever, not the life I felt when kissing him before entering the arena. I imagine the teary sighs emanating from the Capitol, and leave before I have to wipe real tears of my own.

I squeeze through the opening in the rocks out into the night. My breathe makes small white clouds as it hits the air. It's a cold November night back home. One where I slipped into the woods, with lantern in hand, to join Gale at some prearranged place where we sitting bundled together drinking herbal tea in metal flasks wrapped in quilting, hoping game will pass our way as the morning comes on. I think in my head who would be the better to have a backup. Weapons wise Gale because he could back me up from a distance at the feast, but when it comes down to it Peeta's wrestling skills while be crucial when we get to the end. I will have to face off against ever Cato, or Clove in close range; which makes my bow and arrow useless.

I move as fast as I dare. The glasses are quite remarkable, but I sorely miss having the use of my left ear. I don't know what that explosion did, but it damaged something deep and irreparable. You know what, never mind.

 _If I get home, I'll be so stinking rich I'll be able to pay someone to do my hearing for me._ I think, with a chuckle.

The woods always look different at night. Even with the glasses, everything has an unfamiliar slant to it. As if the daytime trees and flowers have gone to bed and sent slightly more ominous versions of themselves to take their place. I don't try anything tricky, like taking a new route. I make my way back up the stream and follow the same path back to Rue's hiding place near the lake. Along the way, I see no sign of another tribute; not a puff of breathe, no quiver of a branch. Either I'm the first to arrive, or the others positioned themselves last night. There's still an hour, or two, when I wiggle into the underbrush and wait for the blood to begin to flow again.

I chew a few mint leaves, my stomach isn't up for much more. Thank goodness I brought Peeta's jacket besides mine. If not, I would be forced to move around to stay warm. The sky turns a misty morning gray and still there's no sign of the other tributes. Everyone has either distinguished themselves by strength, deadliness or cunning. Do they suppose, I wonder, that they think I have Peeta with me? I doubt Foxface and Thresh knows he has been wounded. All the better for them to think he's covering me when I go for the backpack.

But where is it? It's lightened enough for me to take off my glasses. I can hear the morning birds singing their songs. For a second, I'm panicked that I'm at the wrong location. But no, I'm certain I remember Claudius Templesmith specifying the Cornucopia. And then there it is. And here I am.

 _So where's the feast?_ I think to myself.

Just as the first ray of sunlight glints off the gold Cornucopia, there's a disturbance on the plain. The ground in front mouth of the horn splits in two and a table and a round table with a snowy white cloth rises into the arena. On the table sits four backpacks: two large ones with number _2_ and _11_ , a medium size green one with a number _5_ , and a tiny orange one that was mark with a _12_. The table clicks into a place when a figure darts out of the Cornucopia and grabs the green backpack, and speeds off.

 _Foxface!_ I think in shocked amazement.

Leave it to her to come with such a clever and risky idea! The rest of us poised around the plain, sizing up the situation, and she's got hers. She's got us trapped; nobody wants to chase after and leave our backpack vulnerable on the table. That was probably Foxface's plan: leave the others because to take one of the others would brought a pursuer after her. That should have been my strategy! By the time I worked through the emotions of surprise, admiration, anger, frustration, and jealousy I watching the reddish mane of hair disappear into the woods; well out of range of my arrows. Huh, I've been dreading the others, but maybe Foxface was my real enemy here.

She's cost me time, too, because it's clear I'm the next one to get to the table. Anyone who beats me to it can easily scoop up my pack and be gone. Without hesitation, I sprint for the table. I can sense the emergence of danger before I see it. Fortunately, the first knife comes whizzing in on my right side so I can hear it and I'm able to deflect it with my bow. I turn, drawing my bowstring back and send an arrow straight at Clove's heart. She turns just enough to avoid the fatal hit, but the point punctures her upper left arm. Unfortunately, she throws with her right arm, but it's enough to slow her down for a few minutes, to pull it out of her arm, and take in the severity of the wound. I keep moving, positioning the next arrow automatically, as only someone who has been hunting for years can do.

I'm at the table now, my fingers closing over the tiny orange backpack. My hands slip between the strap and I yank it up on my arm, it's really too small to fit on any other part of my anatomy, and I'm turning to fire again when the second knife catches me in the forehead. It slices me above my right eyebrow, open a gash that sends a gush running down my face, blinding my eye, filling my mouth with the sharp, metallic taste of my own blood. I stagger backwards, but I still manage to send my readied arrow in the general direction of me assailant. I know as soon as it leaves my hand it misses. And then Cloves slams into me knocking me to the ground, pinning my shoulders to the ground with her knees.

 _So this is how it ends, I won't beg for my life!_ I think.

I pray for a fast death, but Clove means to savor the kill. No doubt Cato is somewhere nearby, guarding her, keeping an eye out for Thresh.

"Where's your boyfriend District Twelve? Still hanging on?" Clove asks.

 _If we're going to talking, I can use that to my advantage._ I think.

"I won't beg for mercy, but if you're going to kill me I would suggest that you get started now. There's still one more pack up there." I say.

Just as Clove starts talking I feel the emotion building up in me, but I didn't miss the taunt that was coming.

"You lie! There is nobody coming for you!" She says. "Peeta is nearly dead, Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in a tree while you try to keep his heart going. What's in the pretty little backpack? The medicine for lover boy? Too bad he won't get it."

Clove opens her jacket, and I see that it's line with an impressive array of knives. I see Clove select a dainty-looking number with a cruel, curved blade.

"I promised Cato that if he let me have you that I would give the audience a show." Clove says.

I stared at her defiantly, hoping that she would get to the point. I give her a pointed look, knowing the spiel is coming next.

"Forget it District Twelve. We're going to kill you. Just like we killed your pathetic little ally…. What was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well first Rue, then you, then I think we'll let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound?" Clove asked.

She wipes blood away from my wound with her jacket sleeve. For a moment, she surveys my face, tilting it from side to side like it's a block of wood and she's deciding what design to carve on it. I attempt to bite her hand, but she grabs the hair on the top of my head, forcing me back to the ground.

"I think, I'll start with your lips." She purrs.

I clamp my teeth together as she teasingly traces the outline of my lips with the tip of the blade. I won't close my eyes. The comment about Rue has filled me with fury; enough fury I think to die with some dignity. As my last act of defiance, I will stare her down as long as can, which will not be an extended period of time, but I will stare her down, I will not cry out in agony; I will die, in my own small way, undefeated.

"Yes, I don't think you will have much use for her lips anymore. Want to blow lover boy one more kiss?" she asks.

I work up a mouthful of blood and saliva, and spit it in her face. She flushes with anger.

"Let get started, shall we?" She asks.

I brace myself for the agony that is sure to follow. But as I feel the tip open the first cut at my lip, some great force yanks Clove from my body and then she's screaming, which turns into a strangled cry. I'm too stunned at first, unable to process what has happened. Has Peeta come to save me? Have the Gamemakers sent some wild beast to add to the fun? Has a hovercraft inexplicably plucked her into the air? I still hear Clove struggling to breath; she tries to cry out, but it keeps coming out as a strangled cry.

But when I push myself up on my elbows, I see it's none of the above. Clove is a foot of the ground, with her back pinned to the Cornucopia, her throat trapped in Thresh's hand. I let out a gasp, seeing him like that, towering over me, holding Clove like a rag doll. I remember him being big, but he seems more _massive_ , more powerful than I recall. If anything, he seems to have gained weight in the arena. I didn't see it at first, but Thresh had a rock in his hand; and it's a big one. I know what he plans on doing with that thing.

 _Somehow "I told you so," just doesn't quite say it._ I think.

He releases Clove, and she falls to the ground. When he shouts, I jump, never having heard him speak above a mutter.

"What'd you do to the little girl? You kill her?" Thresh asks.

Clove is scrambling back on all fours, like a frantic insect, too shocked to call for Cato.

"No! No! It wasn't me!" Clove shrieks.

"You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?" He asks.

Another thought brings a fresh wave of rage to his features.

"You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl her?" He asks.

"No! No! I-"

Clove cuts herself off when she sees the stone in Thresh's hands, it the size of a small loaf of bread, and loses it.

"Cato! Cato!" Clove screeches.

"Clove!" I hear Cato's answer, but he was too far away, I can tell that much, to do her any good.

What was he doing? Trying to get Foxface or Peeta? Or had he been lying in wait for Thresh and had badly misjudged his location. Thresh brings the rock down hard against Cloves temple. It's not bleeding, but there's a dent in her skull, and I can tell that she's a goner. There's still life: the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the low moans escaping her lips.

When Thresh whirls around on me, with the rock raised, I know it's no good to run. My bow is empty, the last arrow I shot having gone in Clove's direction. I'm trapped in the glare of his strange golden brown eyes.

"What'd she mean? About Rue being your ally?" He asks.

"I-I- we teamed up. Blew up the supplies. I tried to save her, I did. But he got to her first. District One." I say.

Maybe if he knows that I help rue, maybe he won't choose some slow, sadistic end for me.

"And you killed him?" Thresh demands.

"Yes. I killed him. And buried her in flowers, and sang her to sleep." I say.

Tears spring into my eyes. The tension, the fight goes out of me at the memory. I'm overwhelmed by Rue, the pain in my head, my fear of Thresh, and the moaning of the dying girl just a few feet away.

"To sleep?" Thresh says gruffly.

"To death. I sang until she died. You district… they sent me bread." I say, as I reach up to wipe my nose.

"Do it fast, okay, Thresh?" I ask.

Conflict emotions crosses his face. Thresh lowers the rock, and then points at me, almost accusingly.

"Just this one time, I'll let you go. For Rue. You and me, were even. After this we will be enemies, do you _understand_?" He asks.

He put emphasis on the last word. I nod because I understand. About owing. About hating it. I understand that if Thresh wins he will have to go back to a district that broke the rules to thank me, and he is breaking the rules to thank me, too. And I understand, at that moment, that Thresh isn't going to smash my skull in.

"Clove!" I hear Cato scream. I can tell by the pain in his voice he sees her on the ground.

"You better run now, Fire Girl." Thresh says.

I don't have to be told twice. I flip over and my feet dig into the hard packed earth as I run away from Thresh, Clove and the sound of Cato's voice. Only when I reach the woods do I turn back for an instant. Thresh and both large back packs are disappearing over the edge of the plain into the area I've never seen before. Cato kneels down beside Clove, spear in hand, begging her to stay with him. In a moment he will realize that it is futile, she can't be saved. I crash into the trees repeatedly wiping at the blood that's pouring into my eyes; fleeing like the wild, wounded creature that I am. After a few minutes I hear a cannon and I know that Clove has died, and Cato will be on either mine or Thresh's trail. I'm seized with terror, weak from my head wound, shaking. I load an arrow, but Cato can throw a spear almost as far as I can shoot.

Only one thing calms me down: Thresh has Cato's backpack containing the item he desperately needs. If I had to bet, Cato would go after Thresh not me. Still I don't slow down until I reach the water. I plunge right in, with my boots still on, and flounder downstream. I pull off Rue's socks that I have been using as gloves and press them to my forehead, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but they're soaked in minutes.

Somehow I make it back to the cave, and squeeze through the rocks. In the dapple light, I pull the little orange backpack from my arm, cut open the clasp, and dump the contents on the ground. One slim box containing a hypodermic needle. Without hesitating I jam the needle into Peeta's arm and slowly press down the plunger. I brush Peeta's hair back, and kiss his forehead. When I lean back from kissing Peeta, my hands go to my head and then drop back to my lap, slick with blood.

The last thing I remember is an exquisitely beautiful green and sliver moth landing on the curve of my wrist.


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: I hope I did this chapter justice._

The sound of the rain drumming on the roof of our house gently draws me towards consciousness. I fight to return to sleep though, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, safe at home. I'm vaguely aware my head aches. Possibly I have the flu and this is why I'm allowed to stay in bed, even though I can tell I've been asleep a long time. My mother's hand strokes my cheek and I don't push it away as I would in wakefulness, never wanting her to know how much I crave that gentle touch. How much I miss her even though I don't trust her. Then there's a voice, the wrong voice, not my mom's, and I'm scared.

"Katniss." It says. "Katniss can you hear me?"

I open my eyes and my sense of security vanishes. I'm not home, not with my mom. I'm in a dim, chilly cave, my bare feet freezing despite the cover, the air tainted with the unmistakably smell of blood. The haggard, pale face of a boy slides into view, and after my initial jolt of alarm, I feel better.

"Peeta." I say, struggling to speak.

"Hey, good to see you again. He says, with a hint of concern in his voice.

"How long have I been out?" I ask.

"Not sure. I woke up yesterday evening and you were lying next to me in a very scary pool of blood. It's stopped now, but I wouldn't sit up or anything." Peeta says.

When he mentioned the pool of blood, I could detect the fear in his voice that I might die. I gingerly lift my hand to my head and find it bandaged. This simple gesture leaves me weak and dizzy. Peeta holds a bottle to my lips and I drink thirstily.

"You're better." I saw.

"Much better. Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick. By this morning all the swelling in my leg was gone." He said.

He doesn't seem angry about me tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I'm just too beaten up and I'll hear about it later when I'm stronger. But for the moment he's all gentleness.

 _I wonder if this is what my dad did for mom when they were younger, or even after they had us. The gentle touch awakens a burning desire in me I haven't felt since my dad died. I crave, yet fear the gentleness that Peeta is showing me._ I think.

"Did you eat?" I ask, changing the subject in my head.

"I'm sorry to say that I gobbled down three pieces of groosling before I realized that it might have to last a while. Don't worry I'm back on a strict diet." He says.

"No, it's good. You need to eat. I'll go hunting soon." I say.

"Not too soon, alright. You just let me take care of you." He says.

I don't really seem to have a much of a choice. Peeta feeds me bits of groosling, raisin, and makes me drink plenty of water. I fear the tears that are building behind my eyes. The fact that Peeta is still taking care of me hurts. I'm grateful for his assistance, but I was hoping that we would be square; that we would be on even ground after I saved his life, but I'm still relying on him.

 _I know it's petty to have these thoughts, but I really wanted us to even._ I think to myself.

Peeta rubs some warmth back into me feet, which is enough of a distraction for me to wipe my tears. After he wraps them in his jacket, he pulls the sleeping bag up under my chin.

"Your boots and socks are still damp, and the weathers not helping much." He says.

There's a clap of thunder, and I see lightning electrify the sky through the opening in the rocks. Rain drips through several openings in the ceiling, but Peeta has built a sort of a canopy over my head and upper body by wedging square of plastic above me.

"I wonder what brought on the storm. I mean, who's the target?" Peeta asked.

"Cato and Thresh." I say without thinking. "Foxface will be in her den somewhere, and Clove… she cut me and…" I say trailing off.

"I know Clove is dead. I saw it in the sky last night. Did you kill her?" He asked.

"No. Thresh broke her skull with a rock." I say.

Peeta winces when he hears how Clove died.

"Lucky he didn't catch you, too." He says.

The memory of the feast returns full-force and I feel sick.

"He did, but he let me go." I say.

Peeta stares at me in disbelief. I begin to tell Peeta everything that has happened, things that I kept to myself because he was too sick or I because didn't have the courage to relive. I tell him about the explosion and my ear. Rue's death and the boy from District 1 and the bread; which ultimate leads to what happened with Thresh, and how he's paying off a debt of sorts. By the time I finish the story I'm wiping tears from my eyes.

"He let you go because he didn't want to owe you anything?" Peeta asks in disbelief.

"Yes. I don't expect you to understand it. You've always had enough. But if you lived in the Seam, I wouldn't have to explain it." I say.

"And don't try. Obviously I'm too dim to get it." Peeta says.

"It's like the bread. How I never seem to stop owing you for that." I say.

"The bread? What? From when we were kids? I think you can let that go. I mean, you just brought me back from the dead." He says.

"But you didn't know me. We had never spoken. Besides, it's the first gift that is always the hardest to pay back. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't even be here. Why did you do it anyways?" I ask.

"Why? You know why." Peeta says.

I was about to shake my head, but I stop myself. I think about what the possible reasons could be, and then I remember the interview. Peeta said that he had a crush on me, could his emotions have gone deeper than that? I look away from Peeta, and then down to the ground. The feelings do run deeper, but why did he not want me to go get the medicine? This is not the place to ponder those thoughts; I look back up at Peeta and nod.

"Really? Haymitch thought you would take some more convincing." Peeta said.

"Haymitch? What does he have to do with it?" I asked.

"Nothing." Peeta says, but I saw the micro smile on his face. "So Thresh and Cato, huh. I guess it's too much to ask that they would kill each other simultaneously?"

"We would have liked Thresh. I think he would have been our friend back in District 12." I say, trying to put the disturbing thought of his eventual death behind me.

"Then let's hope that Cato kills him, so we don't have to." Peeta says grimly.

I don't want Cato to kill Thresh. I don't want anyone else to die. But this is absolutely not the kind of thing that victors go around saying in the arena. Despite my best efforts, I can feel tears starting to pool in my eyes.

"What is it? Are you in a lot of pain?" Peeta asks, with a look of concern in his eyes.

I give him an answer, because it's equally true but can be taken as a moment of weakness instead of a terminal one.

"I want to go home Peeta." I say plaintively like a small child.

"You will. I promise." Peeta says, and bends over to give me a kiss.

I return the kiss as my hands and arms reach out of the sleeping bag, encircling Peeta; I need him close to me; feeling the warmth of his skin through my clothes.

 _The closeness really is helping me. Having him close helps to put my mind at ease. Helps to calm my troubled heart._ I think.

When we break the kiss I see in Peeta's eyes that he wanted more, but I told him with my eyes _not here_ , and he just bites his lip.

"I want to go home now." I say continuing my train of thought before I kissed him.

"Tell you what. You go back to sleep and dream of home. And you'll be there for real before you know it, okay." Peeta says.

What I don't tell Peeta is that I want to be there with him. I don't say it out loud because I have a haunting feeling that this rule change is a ploy by the Gamemakers. As much as I want to bare my soul to Peeta and let him know my true feelings, I don't want to add more fuel to the fire.

"Okay. Wake me if you need to keep watch." I whisper.

"I'm good and rested thanks to you and Haymitch. Besides, who knows how long how long this will last." He says.

What does he mean? The storm? The brief respite it brings us? The Games themselves? I don't know because I'm too sad and tired ask.

It's evening when Peeta wakes me again. The rain turned to a downpour, sending streams of water through our ceiling where earlier there had been only drips. Peeta places the broth pot under the worst one, and repositions the plastic to deflect most of it from me. I feel a bit better, able to sit up without getting dizzy, and I'm absolutely famished. So is Peeta; it's clear that he was waiting for me to wake up and is eager to get started. There's not much left: two pieces of groosling, a small mishmash of roots, and a handful of dried fruit.

"Should we try to ration it?" Peeta asks.

"No, let's just finish it. The groosling is getting old, and the last thing we need is to get sick off spoiled food." I say.

I split the food up into two equal piles. We try to eat slowly, but we're hungry and were done in a couple of minutes. My stomach is in no way satisfied.

"Tomorrow is hunting day." I say.

"I won't be much help with that. I've never hunted before." Peeta says.

"I'll kill, you cook. And you can always gather." I say.

"I wish there was some sort of bread bush out there." Peeta says.

"The bead they sent from District 11 is still warm. Here chew these, too." I say, handing the bread and some mint leaves to chew on, as I pop a few in my mouth.

It's hard to even see the projection in the sky, but it's clear enough to know that there were no deaths today. So Cato and Thresh haven't had it out yet.

"Where did Thresh go? I mean what's on the far side of the circle?" I ask Peeta.

"A field. As far as you can see it's full of grasses as tall as my shoulder. I don't know, maybe some of them are grains. There are patches of different colors. But there are no paths." He says.

"I bet some are grains. I bet Thresh knows which ones, too. Did you go in there?" I ask.

"No. Nobody want to track Thresh down in that grass. It has a sinister feeling to it. Every time I looked at that grass, all I could think of are hidden thing. Snakes, rabid animals, and quicksand. There could be anything in there." Peeta says.

I don't say so but Peeta's words remind me of the warnings they give us about not going past the fence in District 12. I continue the conversation because I'm on the verge of comparing the differences between Gale and Peeta in my head again.

"Maybe there is a bread bush. Maybe that's why he looks better fed now than when the Games started." I say.

"Either that or he has very generous sponsors. I wonder what we have to do to get Haymitch to send us some bread." Peeta says.

I raise my eyebrows before I remember the message that Haymitch sent a couple of nights ago. One kiss equals one pot. It's not the sort of thing I can blurt out, but I wonder if Haymitch knows the truth. Or if he is somewhat aware of the fact that neither one of us is acting. Haymitch might be a drunken wreck, but he has to know that the kissing is a little too realistic for the story that he is trying to present. Maybe it will require more than kissing to get something. I hear Peeta asking me something.

"Huh?" I ask.

"I asked if you are okay." He says.

"I'm fine, but we might have a problem with sponsors sending us food because Haymitch probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out." I say mischievously.

"Yeah about that." Peeta says entwining his fingers in mine. "Don't try something like that again."

"Or what?" I ask.

"Or… or…" He can't think anything good. "Just give me a minute"

"What's the problem?" I ask with a smile.

"The problem is that were both still alive. Which reinforces idea in your mind that you did the right thing." Peeta says.

"I did do the right thing." I say.

"No! Just don't, Katniss!" His grip tightens, hurting my hand, and there's real anger in his voice. "Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors. Alright?"

I'm startled be his intensity, but I recognize an excellent opportunity for getting food, so I try to keep up. Then all of a sudden something inside me snaps; he's at it again. Acting like his life has no meaning. I feel the pain and fury building within me again; I'm fight the tears, so I feed the fury and lay into Peeta.

"You think this is all about you!" I snap at Peeta.

Peeta instantly sees that he made another mistake, belittling my feelings and my sacrifice to save his life. He was about to apologize, but I don't let him.

"Everything that has happened so far was to save you, but it was for my benefit; when will understand that! Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta; did you ever think of that! Maybe you aren't the only one who… who worries about… what it would be like if…"

I stumble not because I'm unsure of what to say, but because of what the next words would have been. My death, which if you turn it around to meet my perspective, it would be Peeta's death. All the fury and anger I felt went cold, and I visibly deflate. I see Peeta tilt his head to the side at the sudden change in my body posture, but the idea of actually losing Peeta hits me again and I scrambling for solid ground. And it's not about the sponsors. It's not about what will happen back home. It's not about wanting to be alone.

 _I don't want to lose my boyfriend!_ I think.

"If what Katniss." Peeta says softly.

I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I'm feeling, it's no one else business. I don't want to give this answer, but I won't hurt Peeta like that.

"… If I died." I say, just above a whisper.

Peeta eyes grow big as saucers when he remembers the conversation the first night of training. The silence was deafening, and crushing.

"Say something." I say quietly.

"Are you saying that..." But Peeta doesn't get to ask the question.

"I'm not answering that question." I say. "Not here at least."

"Why not?" Peeta asks, his face a mixture of anger and sadness.

"Because you deserve better than this! We both deserve better than this. I know what you are asking me to say, but I want to say it when there aren't others watching." I say.

"Others?" Peeta asks.

I turn and nod towards the exit of the cave, but Peeta knows what I mean. He can see it in my eyes.

 _I want to say the words, but not with the whole of Panem watching._ I say with my eyes.

Peeta catches my meaning, and does something about.

"Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself." Peeta says, and then moves into me.

This kiss is different from the last twenty plus kisses I gave and received from Peeta. One where neither of us is hobbled by sickness, fever, or being unconscious. Our lips burning from fever, or icy cold. It's nothing compared to kisses that we shared during training, or the night after the interviews. This kiss stirs something deep within me; something warm and curious. If I had to name it, it could only be one thing.

 _Love. The love I feel for Peeta._ I think.

I want another kiss, but I don't get it. Well, I get a second kiss, but it's a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta's been distracted.

"I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it's time for bed anyways." He says.

I don't want to stop kissing Peeta, but I don't want to make my head wound worse; I let out an inaudible whimper.

 _Darn you Clove!_ I think.

My socks are dry enough to wear now, and I make Peeta put his jacket back on. The damp seems to cut right down to my bones, so he must be half frozen. I insist on taking the first watch, too, although neither of us thinks it's likely anybody is going to come in this weather. But he won't agree unless I'm in the bag too, and I'm shivering so hard it's pointless to object. In stark contrast to two nights ago, when I felt Peeta was millions of miles away, I'm struck by his immediacy. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow; the other rest protectively over me when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like that in a long time. Since my father died and I stop trusting my mother, no one else's arms have made me feel this safe.

With the aid of the glasses, I lie watching the drips of water splatter on the cave floor; rhythmic and lulling. Several times, I drift off briefly and snap awake, guilty and angry with myself. After three or four hours, I can't help it anymore, I have to rouse Peeta because I can't keep my eyes. He doesn't seem to mind; I lean in and kiss Peeta.

"Tomorrow when it's dry, I'll find a better place for us to sleep." I say as I drift off.

But tomorrow is no different in terms of weather. The deluge continues as if the Gamemakers intend to wash us all away. The thunders so powerful that it shakes the ground. Peeta considers heading out anyway to scavenge for food, but I tell him in this storm it would be pointless. He won't be able to see three feet in front of face and he would get soaked to his skin for his trouble. He knows I'm right, but the gnawing in our stomachs is becoming painful. The day drags into evening, and there's no break in the weather. Haymitch is our only hope, but nothing is forthcoming, either from lack of money – everything will cost an exorbitant amount – or because he dissatisfied with our performance; probably the latter. I'll be the first to admit we're not exactly riveting today. Starving, weak from injuries, trying not to reopen old wounds. We're sitting huddled together wrapped in the sleeping bag trying to keep warm. The most exciting thing we do all day is take a nap.

I want to kiss Peeta again, but I want a _kiss_. I know he would have no problem kissing me again, but I want to experience that feeling from last night; not only that I'm pretty sure a kiss isn't sufficient anymore or we would have gotten food last night. My instincts are telling me that Haymitch is looking for something besides physical affection.

 _Not that I mind kissing Peeta, but I'm tired of kissing him for the Capitol._ I think.

He wants something more personally; the sort of stuff he was trying to get me to tell about myself when we were practicing for the interview. I'm rotten at it, but not Peeta. Maybe the best approach is to get him talking.

"Peeta." I say lightly.

"Hmm." Peeta says, softly in my ear; his breath sending a shiver down my spine.

"During the interviews you said that you had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?" I ask.

I feel Peeta shift to get comfortable, and I feel his arms wrap around me. A sense of security washes over me.

"Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school; we were five. You had a red plaid dress and your hair… it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up." Peeta says.

"Your father? Why?" I ask.

"He said "You see that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with some coal miner." Peeta says.

"What? You're making that up!" I exclaim.

"No, true story." Peeta says. "And then I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner when she could have you?' And he said "Because when he sings… even the birds stop and listen.'"

"That's true. They do, I mean, they did." I say.

I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking that the baker would tell Peeta that. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my dad.

"So that day in the music assembly the teacher asked who knew the valley song. And you hand shot straight up. The teacher stood you up on the stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent." Peeta says.

"Oh, please." I say, laughing.

"No, it happened. And when your song ended, I knew – just like your mother – I was a goner." Peeta says. "Then I spent the next eleven years trying to work up the courage to talk to you."

"Without success." I say.

"Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn at the reaping was a real piece of luck." says Peeta.

"Peeta." I say softly, rest my hand on his check.

Peeta takes my hand and gently kisses it. My heart is breaking that Peeta thought it was stroke of luck that we were tributes in this year's Hunger Games. I feel that sensation in my chest from last night when Peeta kissed me, so I do what I can to keep it going. Peeta's story has a ring of truth to it. The part about my dad and the birds. I did sing on the first day of school, I just forgot what the song was that I sang. And there was a red plaid dress… a hand me down to Prim that was washed to rags after my dad's death. It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So if the details are true.

 _Wait, who am I kidding._ I think.

"You have a… remarkable memory." I say haltingly.

"I remember everything about you." Peeta says.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and it drives me further up the wall; I remember seeing my dad doing that – tucking a loose strand behind the ear - to my mom. That sensation in my chest getting stronger. I'm mere inches away from throwing my arms around Peeta's neck and making out with him.

"It's you who wasn't paying attention." Peeta continues.

"I am now." I say.

"I don't have a lot of competition here." Peeta says.

I want to draw away, to close the shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, "Say it! Say it!"

I swallow hard and get the words out.

"You don't have much competition anyway." I say.

I lean in to kiss Peeta, the tension in my body reaching critical mass. Our lips just barely touch when the clunk outside makes us jump. My bow comes up, the arrow ready to fly, but there's no other sound. Peeta peers through the rocks and gives a whoop. Before I can stop him, he's out in the rain, then handing something to me. A silver parachute attached to a basket. I rip it open at once and inside there's a feast – fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and best of all, a tureen of lamb stew on wild rice. Haymitch must have heard me in passing saying that I enjoyed the dish. Peeta wriggles back in, his face lit up like the sun.

"I guess that Haymitch got tired of watching us starve." He says.

"I guess so." I answer.

But in my head I can hear Haymitch's smug, if slightly exasperated, words, "Yes, _that's_ what I was looking for sweetheart."


	23. Chapter 23

Every cell in my body wants me to dig into the stew and cram it, handful by handful into my mouth, but Peeta's voice stops me.

 _He has such a dreamy voice._ I think.

"We better take it slow on the stew. Remember that first night on the train? The rich food made me sick and I wasn't even starving then." Peeta said.

"You're right. And I could inhale his whole thing!" I say regretfully, but I don't.

We're quite sensible. We each have a role, half an apple, and an egg size serving of stew and rice. I make myself eat the stew in tiny spoonfuls – they sent us each silverware and plates – savoring each bite. When we finish, I stare longingly at the dish.

"I want more." I say.

"Me too. Tell you what. We wait an hour, and if it stays down we can have more." Peeta says.

"Agreed; albeit, it's going to be a long hour." I say.

"Maybe not. What was that you were saying before the food arrived? Something about me having no competition here, and it's the best thing that ever happened to you..." Peeta says trailing off.

"Just shut up and kiss me!" I say blushing, feeling the butterflies in stomach again.

"Don't have to tell me twice." Peeta says, leaning in to kiss me.

"Better not." I say, just as our lips were touching.

This kiss had the same intensity as the one last night. After a few seconds we broke the kiss because I could feel Peeta shivering.

"Scoot over, I'm freezing." He says.

"Why, yes, there is plenty of room in here for you." I say coyly, kissing his cheek.

I make room for him on the sleeping bag. We lean back against the cave wall, my head on his shoulder, and his arms around me. I can feel Haymitch nudging me continue this query.

"So, since we were five, you've never noticed other girls?" I ask.

"No, I've noticed other girls, but none of them made a lasting impression like you." Peeta says.

"I'm sure your parents will be thrilled, you liking a girl from the Seam." I say.

"Hardly, but I couldn't care less. Anyway, if we win you won't be a girl from the Seam, you'll be a girl from Victor's Village." He says.

That's right. If we win, we'll each get a house in a part of town reserved for Hunger Games victors. Long ago, when the Games began, the Capitol built a dozen fine houses in each district. Of course, in ours only one is occupied. Most others have never been lived in at all. A disturbing thought hits me.

"But then our only neighbor will be Haymitch!" I say, exasperated.

I feel Peeta tighten his arms around me, and I feel like I did back on roof of the Training Center the night before the Games.

"Ah, that'll be nice." Peeta says. "You, me, and Haymitch; that's a very cozy thought. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales."

"I told you, he hates me!" I say, but can't help laughing at the image of Haymitch becoming my new pal.

"Only sometimes. When he's sobers, I've never heard him say on negative thing about you." Peeta says.

"Yeah, except the fact that he's never sober!" I protest.

"That's right. Who was I thinking of? Oh, I know. It's Cinna who likes you. But that's mainly because you didn't try to run when he set you on fire. On the other hand, Haymitch… well, if I were you, I'd avoid Haymitch completely. He hates you." Peeta said.

"I thought you said I was his favorite." I say.

"He hates me more. I don't think people in general are his sort of thing." He says.

I know the audience will enjoy our having fun at Haymitch's expense. He's been around so long, he's practically an old friend to some of them. And after the head-dive off the stage at the reaping, everybody knows him. By this time, they're probably dragging him out of the control room for interviews about us. No telling what sort of lies he's made up. He's at something of a disadvantage because most mentors have a partner, another victor to help them whereas Haymitch has to be ready to go into action at any moment. Kind of like me when I was alone in the arena. I wonder how he's holding up, with the drinking, the attention, and the stress of trying to keep us alive.

It's funny. Haymitch and I don't get along in person, but maybe Peeta is right about us being alike because he seems to be able to communicate with me by the timing of his gifts. Like how I knew I was close to water when he withheld it and how I knew the sleep syrup just wasn't something to ease Peeta's pain and how I know now that I have to play up the romance; not that I need much help. He hasn't made much of an effort to connect with Peeta really. Perhaps he thinks a bowl of broth would just be a bowl of broth to Peeta, whereas I'll see the strings attached.

 _Peeta may not see the subtext, but why didn't Haymitch make an attempt to connect with Peeta. I understand he was working with the Careers for the first few days of the Games, but how about when he was holed up in that mud pit by himself? Something doesn't make any sense._ I think.

A thought hit me, and I'm amazed the question's taken so long to surface. Maybe it's because I've only recently begin to view Haymitch with a degree of curiosity.

"How do you think he did it?" I asked.

"Who? Did what?" He asked.

"Haymitch. How do you think he won his Games?" I ask.

Peeta considers this quite a while before he answers. Haymitch is sturdily built, but no physical wonder like Cato and Thresh. He's not particularly handsome. Not in the way that cause sponsors to rain gifts on you. And he's so surly, hard to imagine anyone teaming up with him. There's only one way I can see Haymitch winning his Games, and Peeta is saying it as I reach that conclusion.

"He outsmarted the others." He says.

I nod, and let the conversation drop. But secretly I wonder if Haymitch sobered up long enough to help Peeta and me because he thought we might have the wits to survive. Maybe he wasn't always drunk. Maybe in the beginning, he tried to help the tributes. But then it got unbearable. It must be hell to mentor two kids and then watch them die; year after year. I realize that if I get out of here that will be my job. To mentor the girl from District 12. The idea is so repellant, I thrust it from my mind.

About a half hour has passed before I decide that I have to eat again. Peeta's too hungry himself to put up an argument. While I dish up two more small servings of lamb stew and rice, we hear the anthem begin to play. Peeta presses his eye against the crack in the rocks to watch the sky.

"There won't be anything to see tonight. Nothing's happened or we would've heard the cannon." I say, far more interested in the stew than the sky.

"Katniss." Peeta says quietly.

"What? Should we split another roll, too?" I ask.

"Katniss." He repeats, but I find myself wanting to ignore him.

"I'm going to split one, but save the cheese for tomorrow… What?" I ask, seeing Peeta staring at me.

"Thresh is dead." He says.

"He can't be." I say.

"They must have fired the cannon during the thunder and we missed it." Peeta said.

"Are you sure? I mean, its pouring buckets out there. I don't know how you can see anything out." I say.

I push him away from the rocks and squint out into the dark, rainy sky. For about ten seconds, I catch a distorted glance of Thresh's picture and then he's gone. Just like that. I slump down against the rocks, momentarily forgetting the task at hand. Thresh dead. I should be happy, right? One less tribute to face. And a powerful one, too. But I'm not happy. All I can think about is Thresh letting me go, letting me run because of Rue, who died with a spear in her stomach.

"You all right?" Peeta asks.

I give a noncommittal shrug, and cup my elbows in my hands, hugging them close to my body. I have to bury the real pain because who's going to bet on a tribute that keeps sniveling over the death of her opponents. Rue was different. We were allies. She was so young. But no one will understand my sorrow at Thresh's murder. The words pull me up short. Murder! Thankfully, I didn't say it out loud. That's not going to win me any points in the arena.

"It's just… if we didn't win... I wanted Thresh to. Because he let me go. And because of Rue." I say.

"Yeah, I know. But this means we're on step closer to District Twelve. Eat, it's still warm." Peeta says, nudging a plate of food into my hands.

I take a bite to show I really don't care, but like it's glue in mouth and takes a lot of effort to swallow.

"It also means that Cato will be back to hunting us." I say.

"And he will have supplies." Peeta says.

"He'll be wounded, I bet." I say.

"What makes you say that?" Peeta asks.

"Because Thresh would never go down without a fight. He's strong, I mean, he was. And they were in his territory." I say.

"Good. The more wound Cato is the better. I wonder how Foxface is doing." Peeta asks.

"She's fine." I say peevishly. I'm still anger she thought of the idea to hide in the Cornucopia and I didn't. "It'll be easier to catch Cato than her."

"Maybe they'll catch each other and we can just go home. But we better be extra careful about the watches. I dozed off a few times." Peeta says.

"Me too." I admit. "But not tonight."

We finish eating our food in silence, and Peeta offers to take the first watch. I kiss Peeta good night, and burrow down in the sleeping bag next to him, pulling my hood up over my face to hide it from the cameras. I just need a few moments of privacy where I can let any emotion cross my face without being seen. Under the hood, I say a silent good bye to Thresh; thanking him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his and Rue's family, if I win.

Then I escape into sleep, comforted by a belly full of food and the steady warm of Peeta right beside me. But before the tentacles of sleep drag me under something Peeta said earlier that haunts my dreams. That both Cato and Foxface would kill each other, and the two of us will be crowned victors. In the back of my mind I have my doubts about the two victors be crowned this year, but I push that away for the time being.

When Peeta wakes me the first thing I register is the smell of goat cheese. He's holding out half a roll with the creamy white stuff and topped with apple slices.

"Don't be mad. I had to eat again; here's yours." Peeta says.

"Oh, good." I say taking a huge bite. The strong fatty cheese tastes just like the kind Prim makes, and the apples are sweet and crunchy. "Mm."

"We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery." He says.

"I bet that expensive." I say.

"Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it's gone very stale. Then again everything my family eats is stale." Peeta says, pulling the sleeping bad up around him. In less than a minute, he's snoring.

I feel a wave of shame come over me. I always thought a shopkeeper's life was a soft one.

"Peeta." I say remorsefully, and then I lean in and kiss Peeta's cheek.

And it's true, Peeta has always had enough to eat. But there's something kind of depressing living your life on stale bread, the hard, dry loaves that no one else wanted. One thing about us, since I bring our food home on a daily basis, most of it's so fresh you have to make sure it isn't going to make a run for it.

Somewhere during my shift, the rain stops not gradually but all at once. The downpour ends and there's only residual drippings of water from branches, the rush of the now overflowing stream below us. A full, beautiful moon emerges, and without the glasses I can see outside. I can't decide if the moon is real or a projection of the Gamemakers. I know it was full shortly before I left home. Gale and I watched it rise as we hunted into the late hours.

How long have I been gone? I'm guessing it's been about two weeks in the arena, and there was that week of preparation in the Capitol. Maybe the moon has completed its cycle. For some reason, I badly want it to be my moon, the same one I see from the woods around District 12. That would give me something to cling to in the surreal world of the arena where the authenticity of everything is to be doubted.

 _Everything?_ I think, looking at Peeta as he snores away and smile.

Four of us left. For the first time I allow myself to truly think about the possibility that I make it home. To fame, to wealth, to my own home in the Victor's Village. My mom and Prim would live with me there. No more fear of hunger. A different kind of freedom. But then… what? What would be my life on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I don't know who I really am, what my identity is. The idea scares me. I think of Haymitch with all his money. What did his life become? He lives alone, no wife or children. Most of his waking hours drunk. I don't want to end up like that.

"But you won't be alone." I whisper to myself.

I have Prim and mom. Well, for the time being. And then… I don't want to think about then, when Prim grows up, and mom has passed away. I know I'll never marry, never risk bringing a child into this world. Because if there's one thing being a victor doesn't guarantee, it's your children's safety. My kid's name would go right in the reaping balls with everyone else's. And I swear that I will never let that happen.

 _But what if the Hunger Games were to be done away with? What if the current sitting Capitol leadership were to be deposed? That's a big if. But still, what if?_ I think.

The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the cracks and illuminating Peeta's face. Who will he transform into when we get home? The perplexing, good-natured boy who can spin lies so convincing the whole of Panem believes that he is hopelessly in love with me, or will he be the gentle-natured lover that emerged after the opening ceremonies? Who stepped in to keep the Careers away from me, who distracted Cato so I could get away? Nothing will the fact that we saved each other's lives in here, but…

 _I don't want to be friends. I have to tell Peeta when we get out of here._ I think.

The sun is getting higher in the sky and time's wasting, so I scoot over and gentle shake Peeta's shoulder. He opens eyes sleepily, and when they focus on me, I smile at him, and he pulls me down for a long, slow kiss.

"As much as I want to keep this little session going, but we need to get to it. If Cato's active again, I want to be prepared for when we confront him." I say, when I finally break away.

"Talk about a buzz kill." Peeta teases, as he sits giving a big stretch.

"There'll be more time for that later." I say, with a sly grin.

Peeta cocks his head to the side, and raises his eyebrows at me; I playfully glare at him, and shake my head in mock disdain.

"So do we hunt on an empty stomach to give us an edge?" Peeta asks.

"Not us. We stuff ourselves to give us staying power." I say.

"Count me in." Peeta says. But I can see he's surprised when I divide the rest of the stew and rice, handing a heaping plateful to him. "All of this?"

"We'll earn it back today." I say, and we both plow into the plates.

Even cold, it's one of the best thing I have ever tasted. I abandon my fork and scrape the last bit of gravy with my finger.

"I can feel Effie shuddering at my manners." I say, with a grin.

I can imagine Haymitch cackling at my display. Or should I say our display because Peeta is about to do something.

"Hey, Effie watch this!" Peeta says.

He tosses his fork over his shoulder and licks the plate clean tongue making loud, satisfying sounds. Then he blows a kiss in her general direction.

"We miss you Eff-" Peeta says, but I cover his mouth with my hand.

"Stop! Cato could be right outside." I say, attempt to sound serious but I'm laughing.

"What do I care? I've got you to protect me now." Peeta says, pulling me into him

Peeta kisses me one last time, then we pack up, and leave the cave. Standing outside the cave, our mood shifts to seriousness. It's as if the last few days sheltered by the rocks and the rain and Cato's preoccupation with Thresh, have given us a brief respite, a holiday of sorts. Now, although the day is sunny and warm, we both sense we're really back in the Games. I hand Peeta his knife, and he slips it into his belt. My last seven arrows rattle a bit too loosely in the quiver; I can't afford to lose anymore.

"He'll be hunting us now. Cato isn't one to wait his for prey to wander by." Peeta says.

"If he's wounded-" I begin to say, but Peeta cuts me off.

"It won't matter. If he can move, he's coming." Peeta says.

With all the rain, the stream has overrun its banks by several feet on both sides. We stop there to replenish our water. I check my snares I set a couple of days ago and come up empty. Not surprising given the weather. Besides I haven't seen many animals, or signs of them in the area.

"If we want food, we better head back up to my old hunting grounds." I say.

"Your call. Just tell me what you need me to do." Peeta says.

"Keep an eye out. Stay on the rock as much as possible, no need to leave tracks for him to follow. And listen for the both of us." I say; it's clear that whatever damage the explosion has done to my left ear had been permanent.

I'd walk in the water to cover our tracks completely, but I won't risk any unnecessary danger to Peeta. The drug had erased any trace of the infection, but he's still pretty weak. My forehead still hurts along the knife cut, but after three days the bleeding has stopped. I wear a bandage around my head though, just in case physical exertion should bring it back.

As we head alongside the stream, we pass the place where I found Peeta camouflaged in the weeds and mud. One good thing, between the downpour and the flooded banks, all signs of his hiding place have been washed away. That means we can return to the cave for safety, if need be; otherwise I wouldn't risk it with Cato after us. The boulders diminish to rocks that eventually turn to pebbles, and then, to my relief, we're back on pine needles and the gentle incline of the forest floor. For the first time, I realize we have a problem. Navigating rocky terrain with a bad leg you're going to make some noise, can't do anything about that. But even on a smooth bed of needles, Peeta is loud. I'm _loud_ loud, as if he's stomping his feet or something. I turn and look at him.

"What?" he asks.

"You've got to move more quietly. Forget Cato, you're scaring off every rabbit in a ten mile radius." I say.

"Really." he says. "Sorry, I didn't know."

So, we start up again, and he's a tiny bit better, but even with one good ear, he's making me jump.

"Can you take off your boots?' I suggest.

"Here?" he asks in disbelief, as if I'm asking him to walk barefoot across coals.

I have to remind myself he's still not used to woods, that's a scary forbidden place beyond the fence of District 12. I think of Gale, and his velvet tread. It's eerie how little sound he makes, even when the leaves have fallen and it's a challenge to move at all without chasing off all the game. I feel certain he's laughing back home.

 _Shut up Gale._ I think to myself, as I look off in the distance.

"Yes." I say patiently. "I will too. That way we will both be quieter."

"Not that you were making any noise." Peeta says, sarcastically.

 _As if he was reading my mind._ I think.

So were traipsing through the woods in our bare feet and there is some improvement, but I swear he's making an effort to break every branch we encounter. Although it takes us several hours to reach mine and Rue's old campsite, I've shot nothing. If the stream would settle down, the fish might be an option, but the current is still too strong. As we stop to rest and drink water I try to work out a solution. Ideally, I'd dump Peeta with some simple root-gathering chore while I go hunting, but he would only be armed with a knife against Cato's spear and superior strength. So, I would like to conceal him somewhere he'd be safe, and then come back and collect him. But his ego wouldn't go for that suggestion.

"Katniss, we need to split up. I know I'm scaring off the game." Peeta says.

"Only because your leg's hurt." I say generously, because really, you can tell that's only a small part of the problem.

"I know. So why don't you go on, but show me some plants to gather; that way we'll both be useful." He says.

"Not if Cato comes for you." I say, and both my tone of voice and my expression reassures that he is capable, but that I didn't want to let him out of my sight.

Peeta takes it stride, while laughing it off. "Look, I can handle Cato. I fought him before, didn't I?"

Yeah, and that turned out great. You wound up slowly dying in a mud bank. That's want I wanted to say, but I don't. He did save me from Cato. I don't want to press the issue further, so I show him what roots to dig up. We need food, no doubt. One apple, two rolls, and a blob of cheese the size of a plum isn't going to last long. I teach Peeta a bird whistle – not like Rue's melody but a simple two note whistle – which we can communicate that we are all right. He learns the notes quickly, and then I'm off; leaving the pack with him.

I feel like I'm eleven again, tethered to not to the safety of the fence but to Peeta; allowing myself twenty, thirty yards of hunting space. Away from Peeta the forest comes to life with animals sounds. Reassured by his periodic whistles, I allow myself to drift further away, and soon I have two rabbits and a fat squirrel too show for it. I decide that it's enough for now, so I set a few snares and head back. As I'm heading back I realize that we haven't whistled in a while. Just as I purse my lips to whistle I hear a cannon fire off. I take off running back to the campsite.

"Peeta." I call out.

I see Peeta's jacket on the ground with some kind of berry on it.

"Peeta." I say, afraid of the current situation.

I walk up to the jacket and look at the berries. Instantly I recognize the berries, and they're not Rue's berries. I hear my dad's voice in my head.

 _Never these Katniss. They're nightlock. You'll be dead before they reach your stomach._

"PEETA!" I screech, as I take off running dropping the dead animals, hoping and praying I don't find Peeta's dead body.

I run about thirty feet when I decide to call out to Peeta.

"Peeta – ah!" I scream, as I collide with Peeta.

I'm hyperventilating at first. It takes me a few seconds to get my breathing under control.

"Are you okay?" Peeta asks, he can see the tears in my eyes.

"I heard the cannon and…" I stop in midsentence when something in his hand catches my attention. He had a handful of the nightlock berries in his hand. "That's nightlock Peeta! You'd be dead in a minute!" I shriek, smacking his hand and knocking the berries to the ground.

Peeta attempts to apologize, but I cut him off; my lips crashing against his with a searing kiss. When the words left my mouth about Peeta dying the tears started streaming down my face. I feel the emotions of sadness, anger, relief and joy are coursing through my body like the blood in my veins. Sadness because I thought I lost Peeta. Anger because me made think that he had died and left me here, alone in this arena with Cato. Relief and joy that he's still alive. We make out until I calm down, but when I pull away I still had more to say.

"You scared me to death. DAMN YOU!" I say, my voice cracking as I hugged him.

I need to Peeta to be close, I need to feel the warm of his skin, and the strength of his embrace. I hear Peeta whispering that he was sorry over and over again. When we break the hug we turn to see a hovercraft pulling the emaciated remains of Foxface's body. I can see the red glint of her hair in the sunlight. Next I feel is Peeta grabbing my arm, pushing me towards a tree.

"Climb. He'll be here in a second. We stand a better chance fighting him from above." Peeta says.

I stop him, suddenly calm.

"No Peeta. She's your kill, not Cato's." I say

"What? I haven't even seen her since the opening day. How could I have killed her?" He asked.

In answer, I point to the berries on the ground.


	24. Chapter 24

It takes a while to explain the situation to Peeta. How Foxface stole from the supply pile before I blew it up, how she took enough to stay alive but not enough that anyone would notice, explains why she didn't question the safety of the berries we were preparing to eat ourselves; by the time I finish I had relaxed greatly after the scare of Peeta being killed.

"Wait a minute. Didn't Foxface pass the edible pants test?" Peeta asked.

I look at Peeta as if he was an alien from another planet.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Peeta asked.

"You do realize where we are, right?" I ask.

"Are you seriously telling me that the Gamemakers put a berry in the Games that wasn't on their list?" Peeta asked.

"That would be my guess, not only that the trainer did say that we weren't supposed to eat anything unless we were hundred percent sure of it. Although I wouldn't put it past the Gamemakers to put a berry like that in here, if nothing more than to keep it interesting." I say.

I stare at the berries and I had an idea.

"Before you throw them away, let's grab a handful for later." I say.

"Why?" Peeta asks.

"In The Hunger Games, _everything_ is fair game." I say.

I put a handful of berries in the pouch I got off the boy from District 1, and Peeta threw out the rest.

"How did you know they were nightlock berries?" Peeta asked.

"That's what we called them back in twelve." I say.

"We better move. If Cato was in the area and saw the hovercraft, he will know that we killed her and come after us." Peeta says.

Peeta's right. This could be the opportunity that Cato's been waiting for. But even if we run right now, there's still the meat that needs to be cooked, the fire will be another sign of our whereabouts.

"Let's make a fire. Right now." I say, as I start to gather branches and brush.

"Are you ready to face him?" Peeta asks.

"I'm ready to eat. Better to cook our food while we have the chance. If he knows we're here, he knows. But he also knows that there are two of us, and assume that we were hunting Foxface. That means that you have recovered. The fire means that we are not hiding, and that we are inviting him here. Would you come?" I ask.

"No." Peeta says.

Peeta's a whiz with fires, coaxing a blaze out of the damp wood. In no time, I have the rabbits and the squirrel roasting, and the roots, wrapped in leaves, baking in the coals. We take turns gather greens and keeping a careful watch for Cato, but as I anticipated, he doesn't make an appearance. When the foods cook, I pack most of it up, leaving us each a rabbit's leg to eat. I want to move higher into the woods, climb a good tree for the night and make camp, but Peeta resists.

"I can't climb like you Katniss, not with my leg. Not only that, I don't think I could fall asleep fifty feet off the ground." He says.

"We can't stay out in the open Peeta." I say.

"Can't we just go back to the cave? It's near water, and it's easy to defend." He says.

I sigh. Several more hours of walking – or more appropriate crashing – through the woods back to a place we'll just have to leave in the morning to hunt. But Peeta doesn't ask for much. He's followed my instructions all day, and if the situation was reversed, he wouldn't make me spend the night in a tree. I want move forward, but for Peeta I will go back. I reach up and kiss Peeta deeply.

"Alright. Let's go back." I say, after breaking the kiss.

"Well, that was easy." Peeta says, the pleasure and relief written on his face.

I worked my arrow out of the oak; careful not to damage the shaft. These arrows are food, safety, and life itself. We toss a bunch more wood on the fire. It should be sending of smoke for few more hours, although I doubt Cato assumes anything now. When we reach the stream, I see the water has dropped considerably and return to its leisurely pace; I suggest we walk in the water. Peeta's happy to oblige seeing how he's quieter in the water than on land, it's doubly a good idea. It's a long walk back to the cave though, even going downhill, even with a boost from the rabbit. Were both exhaust from our hike today, and still way too underfed. I keep my bow loaded, both for Cato and fish in the stream, but the creatures are absent from their aquatic home.

By the time we reach our destination, our feet are dragging and the sun sits low on the horizon. We fill up our water bottles and climb the little slope to our den. It's not much, but out here in the wilderness, it's the closest thing to a home. It'll be warmer than a tree, too, because it provides shelter from a wind that has begun to blow from the west. I set out a good dinner, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food when he wakes. He drops off immediately, and I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin. I kiss Peeta's forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I'm grateful that he's still here, and not dead by the stream like I thought. So glad that I don't have to face Cato alone.

Brutal, bloody Cato who can snap a neck with a twist of his arm, who had the power to overcome Thresh, who has had it out for me since the beginning. He probably has had a special hatred for me ever since I outscored him in training. My Peeta would have simply shrugged that off, but I have a feeling it drove Cato to distraction; which is not hard. I think of his ridiculous reaction to finding the supplies blown up. The others were upset, of course, but he as completely unhinged. I wonder now if Cato might not be entirely sane.

The sky lights up with the seal, and I watch Foxface shine in the sky and then disappear from the world forever. He hasn't said it, but I don't think Peeta feels good about killing her, even if it was essential. I kiss Peeta's forehead again, as if an attempt to alleviate the guilt he feels for killing Foxface; even if he did so inadvertently. Subconsciously, Peeta smiled at my kissing his forehead; as if he knew that I was trying to help him. I can't pretend I miss her, but I can't help but admire her. My guess, if they had given us some sort of test, she would have been the smartest of all the tributes. If, in fact, we had been setting a trap for her, I bet she'd had sensed it and avoided the berries. It was Peeta's own ignorance that cause her downfall. I spent so much time trying not to underestimate my opponent, that I've forgotten how dangerous it is to overestimate them as well.

Which brings me back to Cato. But while I think I had a sense of Foxface, who she was and how she operated, he's a little more slippery. Powerful, well trained, but smart? I don't know. Not like she was. And utterly lacking in control like Foxface demonstrated. I believe Cato could easily lose his judgement in a fit of rage. Not that I can feel superior on that point. I think of how I let my arrow fly pinning the apple to the wall behind the pig roast when I was enraged. Maybe I understand Cato better than I think.

Despite the fatigue in my body, my mind is alert, so I let Peeta sleep long past our usual switch. In fact, a soft gray day has begun when I shake his shoulder. He looks out, almost in alarm.

"I slept the whole night, Katniss, that's not fair." Peeta said, as if annoyed.

I stretch, give Peeta a couple kisses, and then cuddle into him.

"I'll sleep now. Wake me if anything interesting happens." I say.

As I'm drifting off into the abyss I can feel Peeta wrap his arms around me, and I can feel that sense of security again; that same feeling I felt on the balcony the night before the Games two weeks ago. I feel Peeta's lips graze my forehead, and I give a slight smile as I drift off. Apparently nothing happens because when I open my eyes the bright, hot afternoon light gleams through the rocks.

"Any sign of our wayward friend?" I ask.

"No, he's keeping a disturbingly low profile." Peeta says, shaking his head.

"How long do you think we have until the Gamemakers drive us together again?" I ask.

"Well it's been about a day since Foxface was killed, so there's been plenty of time for the audience to place bets and get bored. My guess, anytime now." Peeta says.

"Yeah, I have a feeling that this is the final day too. I wonder how they will do it." I say, looking out at the peaceful terrain.

Peeta doesn't answer because there isn't sound answer to my statement.

"Well until they pull the trigger, no point in wasting a hunting day. But we should probably eat as much as we can; in case we run into trouble." I say.

I set out a big meal as Peeta is packing our gear. The rest of the rabbits, roots, greens, the rolls spread with the last bit of cheese. The only thing I leave in reserve is the squirrel and the apple. By the time we're down the only thing left is a pile of rabbit bones. My hands are greasy, which doesn't help my growing feeling of grubbiness. Maybe we don't bathe daily in the Seam, but we keep cleaner than I am as of late. Except for my feet, which have walked in the stream, I'm covered in a layer of grime.

Leaving the cave had a sense of finality about it. I don't think there will be another night in the arena somehow. One way or another, dead or alive, I have a feeling I'll be escaping it today. I give the rocks a pat good-bye and then we head down to the stream to wash up. I can feel my skin itching from cool water. I may do my hair and braid it back wet. I'm wondering if we might be able to scrub our clothes when we get to the stream. We get to the stream and we're taken back by the scene in front of us.

 _Or what's left of the stream._ I think.

Now there's only a bone-dry bed. I put my hand down to feel it.

"Not even a little damp. They must have drained while we slept." I say.

The fear of a cracked tongue, aching body and the fuzzy mind brought on by my previous dehydration creeps into my consciousness. Our bottles and skin are fairly full, but with two drinking and this hot sun it won't take long to deplete them.

"Their trying to drive us back to the lake." Peeta says.

"Makes senses. With just three of us left, why take the chance of having their field of view obscured by vegetation. That way they're guaranteed a bloody finish." I say. "Do we you want to go now, or wait until the waters tapped out?"

"Let's go now, while we've had food and rest. Let's go and end this thing." He says.

I nod. I feel almost as if it's first day of the Games again. That I'm in the same position. Twenty-one dead tributes, but I still have yet to kill Cato. And really, wasn't he always the one to kill? Now it seems the other tributes were a distraction, obstacles even, keeping us from the real battle of the Games. Cato and me.

But no, there's the boy waiting beside me. I feel his arms wrap around me.

"Two against one. Should be a piece of cake." Peeta says.

"Next time we eat, it will be in the Capitol." I say, faking a smile.

"You bet it will." He says.

We stand there for a while, locked in an embrace, feeling each other, the sunlight, the rustle of leaves at our feet. Then without a word, we break apart and head for the lake; in the back of my mind I'm still question the validity of the rule change.

I don't care if Peeta's footfalls send rodents scurrying, and makes birds take flight. We have to fight Cato I'd just as soon as do it here as on the plain. But I doubt I'll have that choice. If the Gamemakers want us out in the open, than in the open it will be.

We stop for a few moments under the tree where the Careers trapped me. The husk of the tracker jacker nest, beaten to a pulp by the heavy rain and dried in the burning sun, confirms the location. I touch it with the tip of my boot, and it dissolves into dust that is quickly carried off by the breeze. I can't help looking up in the tree where Rue secretly perched, waiting to save my life. Tracker jackers. Glimmer's boated body. The terrifying hallucinations…

"Let's move on." I say, wanting to escape the darkness that surrounds this place. Peeta doesn't object.

 _Good-bye Rue. Thank you for the comfort you brought me._ I think, thanking my ally.

Given the late start to our day, when we reach the plain it's early evening. There's no sign of Cato. No sign of anything except the gold Cornucopia glowing in the slanting sun rays. Then obediently, as if following instructions, we cross the plain and fill our water containers.

"We don't want to fight him after dark, we only have one pair of glasses." I say, frowning at the sinking sun.

"Maybe that's what he's waiting for. What should we do? Head back to the cave?" Peeta asks, as he carefully squeezes drops of iodine into the water.

"That would be a tempting idea, but we would have to come back here for water. Let's give him another half an hour, then we should find a tree, or head to the Cornucopia." I think.

We sit by the lake in full sight. There's no point in hiding now. In the trees at the edge of the plains, I can see mockingjays flitting about. Bouncing melodies back and forth between them like brightly colored balls. I open my mouth and sing out Rue's four notes. I can feel them pause curiously at the sound of my voice, listening for more. I sing the notes again in the silence. First one mockingjay trills the tune back, then another. Then the whole world comes alive with the sound.

"Just like your father." Peeta says.

"That's Rue's song. I think they still remember it." I say, as my fingers find the pin on my shirt.

The music swells and I recognize the brilliance of it. As the notes overlay, they complement one another, forming a lovely, unearthly harmony. It was this sound, thanks to Rue, that sent the orchard workers of District 11 home at night. Does someone else start it at quitting time, now that she is dead?

For a while, I just close my eyes and listen, mesmerized by the beauty of the song. Then something begins to disrupt the music. Runs cut off in jagged, imperfect lines. Dissonant notes interspersed with melody. The mockingjays' voice rise up in a shrieking cry of alarm.

We're on our feet, Peeta wielding is knife, me poised to shoot, when we see the first of however many creatures come barreling onto the plains. Peeta was the first to react, and I feel him pushing me in the direction of the Cornucopia. I turn and run as the next half dozen creatures come crashing through the brush.

 _A/N: Just a reminder to all my loyal followers that are loving the story so far; I would like to remind you that I'm retelling the story. Yes. Yes I'm still going to have Peeta question Katniss on the way back to District 12, but it's going to have a very different outcome. They will be some added scenes to the beginning of Catching Fire, and the biggest surprise on the train ride back after the Victors Tour. So bear with me, and have faith. You will not be disappointed._


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: Sorry for making you wait so long. I hope this chapter makes up for wait._

Muttations, no question about it. I've never seen these mutts, but they're no natural-born animals. They resemble huge wolves, but what wolf can balance easily on its hind legs? What wolf waves the rest of the pack forward with its front paw as though it had a wrist? These things I can see at a distance. Up close, I'm sure their more menacing attributes will be revealed.

In the distance I can see the Cornucopia, and I run at a dead sprint for the landmark. Whatever plan I had before it's now useless. Climbing a tree is out of the question. Peeta would never make it, and we would be sitting ducks. Going back to the cave now is so illogical it's laughable, we'd be dead before we reached the river.

 _Our only hope is getting to the Cornucopia._ I think.

Then I had a bleak thought.

 _Peeta!_

I turn just as my hands were touching the metal tail when I remember I'm part of a team. He's about fifteen yards behind me, hobbling as fast he can, but the mutts are closing fast. I send an arrow into the pack killing one, tripping two more, but three more jump in to take their place. Peeta waves me up the horn.

"Go, Katniss! Go!" Peeta shouts.

He's right. I can't protect either of us on the ground. I start climbing, scaling the Cornucopia on my hands and feet. The pure gold surface has been designed to resemble the woven horn we fill at harvest, so there are little seems and ridges to get a decent hold on. But after a day in the arena sun, the metal feels hot enough to blister my hands. Just as I get to the top of the horn, I hear Peeta cry out. I twist around to see that he's just reach the tail, and the mutts are right on his heels.

"Climb!" I yell.

Peeta's climb is not only hampered by the leg, but the knife in his hand.

"Get rid of the knife!" I yell, as I load my bow and send an arrow flying down the throat of the first mutt that placed its paws the on metal.

As it dies the creature lashes out, inadvertently opening gashes on a few of its companions. That's when I get good a look at its claws. Four inches, and clearly razor-sharp. A scream rings out, and my attention is returned to my partner. Just as he was climbing up on the top of the landmark, one of the beast had jumped up and slashed out with its claws, opening a nice gash on his leg.

Blood starts to flow from the wound. I can see that the wound is bad, fatal even. I run over and rip my jacket off, and he hands me the knife. I cut a section of my jacket off, fashioning a tourniquet; just like I've seen my mom do a few times in the past. As I'm tending to Peeta's leg the dogs are walking circles on our side, but they're not moving to the other side, which is weird. I take in the dogs, and their physical characteristics. There are nineteen of them, and their fur ranges in color from black to brown, to red, and even a blonde one. They all have collars on them, and a few that I can see have numbers on them. I even see a tiny one near the edge of the pack. Before I can think on more on this topic I had finished with Peeta's leg, the dogs started sniffing the air, and all starting point at us.

 _What? I've heard of dogs doing something like that. If the pick up a scent they point at it, but they already have our scents. Oh, crap!_ I think.

Peeta and were getting back to our feet, when I realize that we had company. I feel Cato throwing me towards the front of the Cornucopia. I hit my head, which sends me into to a daze. I hear a something colliding, and Peeta grunting as he falls to the deck. I turn to look up at Cato, and I can see blood on his face and forehead, and he had a crazed looked in his eyes. The look of a person that wants to kill you. I miss the mace in his hand, but that didn't matter because just as he was rearing back to swing on me, Peeta gets back to his feet and tackles him to the deck, and they start wrestling. Peeta picks him up in a bear hug, and starts walking Cato to the tail of the Cornucopia, slamming him into the elevated part; momentarily winding Cato.

 _Oh my God!_ I think.

I knew Peeta was strong, but he just picked Cato up like he was a rag doll and started walking with him. Something catches my attention. I look at Peeta's leg and its bleeding again, but at a slower rate.

We have to kill him soon, or Peeta's going to bleed out, and were both dead. I can still hear the dogs growling up at us. I see Cato start to get some leverage on Peeta, so I run in to help evens the odds. Which was useless because just as I got close enough Cato catches me with an elbow, which sends me reeling and Peeta flying. Cato grabs Peeta by his jacket and throws him back towards the tail of the land mark. Just as Peeta is starting to get back to a crawling position, Cato hits Peeta in his chest.

 _How is Cato still holding his weapon?_ I think.

I'm scrambling to get back to my feet as Cato is walking me down, and we both slip. I can see a line of Peeta's blood all over the surface of the Cornucopia. Just as I'm getting back to my feet Cato was already on me. Cato swings his mace twice, and I easily dodge out of the way, but when he swings for a third time I stop him by jamming one hand into his throat and the other one into his weapon arm. It seemed like a bright idea when I thought out in my head, but I forgot to factor in the weight and size difference. Cato is overpowers me, and then sweeps my feet out from under me.

I hear more roaring as the dogs come running up. I feel my head dangling over the side of the Cornucopia, and I can feel both of Cato's hands on my windpipe, collapsing it. I start choking, and gasping for air. I start to see black rings in the corner of my vision. This goes on for about thirty seconds when Peeta finally regains his wits, runs over ripping Cato off of me, and body slams him onto his back. I suck in as much air as possible. I hear another one of Peeta's body slams, and then both of them are scurrying up the tail. Just as I clear the black rings out of my vision I slide to grab my bow, draw the string back with an arrow nocked and train it on Cato, but he's got Peeta in some kind of choke with Peeta between the two of us.

 _Dirty Career!_ I think.

I'm gritting my teeth. I can see Peeta is in pain; either from the choke, the blooding leg wound, or both. Cato has me at a stand-off.

"Go on. Shoot." Cato says.

I release the tension in my string, wanting to hear what Cato has to say.

"Then we both go down, and you'd win." Cato says.

My eyes shoot to Peeta, and he closes his eye, trying to block out the pain.

"Go on. I'm dead anyway." Cato says.

Something about his words, him being dead anyways, pulls me up short. I lower my bow a bit, and wait for an opening.

"I always was, right?" Cato asked.

I look back at Peeta's leg, and his pant leg is completely soaked.

"I didn't know that until now." Cato says.

 _What are you babbling on about?_ I think.

"How's that? Is that what they want?" Cato asks, taking his eyes off of me and loosening his grip on the choke.

I aim to take another shot, but Cato looks back at me, and puts Peeta back in the choke. I loosen the slack on the string.

"No." Peeta gasps.

"No, no." Cato says, mocking Peeta.

I watch as Cato changes his grip on Peeta's neck, preparing to break it.

"I could still do this." Cato says.

The fear in my body reaches critical mass, but I tamp it down; refusing to let it paralyze me.

"I can still do this." Cato continues. "One more kill."

I see Peeta look at me, and we make eye contact.

"It's the only thing I know how to do." Cato says, but Peeta's index finger distracts me.

Peeta is pointing at Cato's hand.

"Bring pride to my district." Cato says.

Peeta points back to Cato's hand, and I realize what he mean; _shoot his hand._ Peeta says with his eyes.

"Not that it matters." Cato says.

I redraw the arrow and let it fly, Cato tries to take cover behind Peeta but my arrow lodges into his hand I hear Cato scream momentarily, but Peeta elbows Cato in the chest and then push him off the Cornucopia. Just as Cato disappears, Peeta collapses to the deck. I run over and grab the knife and my coat, then I run over to Peeta. I hear loud thud as Cato his the ground, and then the mutts pounced on him. I hear Cato's screams, some of them sound like he is pleading for mercy. I stop what I'm doing load another arrow onto my bow, and kill Cato; after that I turn my attention Peeta. I can hear the canon go off, and I can see Cato's picture in the sky.

My adrenaline is starting to wear off, and I can feel the bitter cold; I ignore the cold and turn my attention to Peeta. When he fell during the fight with Cato, the makeshift tourniquet had come loose. His leg is bleeding as badly as ever; all our supplies, our packs, remain down by the lake where we abandoned them when we fled from the mutts. I have to make another tourniquet, but I have no idea how long I will have to leave this on Peeta's leg. I cut the sleeve off my coat and tie it above the knee. I have to tie the tourniquet off with something, but what?

I don't have a stick, but I still have a few arrows left so I stick an arrow in the tourniquet to strength the bond.

"That was kind of you." Peeta said.

It was at time I realize that all the dogs had left, but Cato's body was still in the arena.

 _Strange._ I think.

"What was?" I ask.

"You shooting Cato." Peeta asked.

"He may have been our enemy, but nobody deserves to go out like that." I say.

"Cato was ready to choke you to death." Peeta said.

"Which would have been quicker, than being eaten alive. If I had to, and you were in Cato's shoes, I wouldn't have hesitated." I say.

"You would have killed me?" Peeta asks.

I look at Peeta and his skin is gray and sweaty in the moon light, he's lost a lot of blood.

"Would you like it if I let you die slowly?" I ask, my chin quivering.

"No." Peeta, says sleepily.

 _The irony of the situation is not lost on me. If Claudius Templesmith doesn't come through, Peeta will die slowly. Unless._ I think.

I see Peeta start to doze off.

"Don't fall asleep." I say.

I'm not sure that's the exact medical term, but I'm terrified that Peeta drifts off he might not wake again; if Peeta dies in here, I know I'll go completely insane. This went on for quite some time, me telling Peeta to stay awake, but them my body finally collapses; the bitter cold knocking me out. Peeta pulls me into him, covering both of us in his coat, and we then both fall asleep. The sun is already up and I can feel Peeta running his hand through my hair. I start to stir, and he opens his coat.

"I have a question for you." I say.

"Yeah, what's that?" Peeta asks.

I try to be as seductive as I can, forgetting that they haven't declared us victors yet.

"What was that you were saying about wrestling skills being useless?" I ask

Peeta rolls his eyes, and gives me a kiss. It was a deep one, but something in the back of my mind caused me to break it off.

"What?" Peeta asks.

I look around, and I see that Cato's body is still on the ground; we both share a look.

"Is it because of our proximity to the body?" Peeta asks.

"Maybe." I say, but a feeling in the back of my mind is telling me no.

Peeta grabs the knife, and then we slide down off the side of the Cornucopia. My body is stiff from the cold night, so I can't imagine how Peeta feels. I say that we should head for the lake, but that wasn't going to solve anything. Somehow we make it to the lake; I'm cupping some water in my hands for Peeta and bring a second to my lips.

A mockingjay gives the long, low whistle, and tears refill my eyes as the hovercraft appears and takes Cato's body away. Now they will come for us, or show their true colors.

 _As I expected. Nothing, we're still here._ I think.

I feel a sense of dread wash over me as Peeta asks.

"What are they waiting for?" Peeta asks weakly. Between the loss of the tourniquet and the effort it took to get to the lake, his wound opened again.

"I'm afraid to say it." I say, standing up.

Peeta looks at me expecting an explanation, but we hear the booming voice of Claudius Templesmith in the arena.

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner can be allowed." He says "Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

There's a small burst of static and then nothing more. I stare at Peeta in disbelief as the truth sinks in. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that they had no intention of letting us both live. This was devised so that the final showdown would be the most dramatic in the history of the Games. And like a fool, I bought into it.

"If you think about, it's not that surprising." He says softly.

I watch as he painfully makes it to his feet. Then he's moving towards me, as if in slow motion, his hand pulling the knife from his belt –

Before I'm even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded with an arrow pointed straight at his heart. Peeta raise his eyebrows and I see that the knife has already left his hand on its way to the lake where it splashes in the water. I lower my weapons, and I feel my face burning in shame; thinking that Peeta was going to try to kill me.

"No." He says. "Do it."

Peeta limps towards me, and thrust the weapon back in my hand. I can see something on his face, in his features.

 _He wants this! Peeta wants me to kill him!_ I think.

"I won't. I can't." I say, the raw emotion choking my voice.

"Do it before they send those mutts back or something. I don't want to die like Cato." He says

"Then you shoot me." I say furiously, shoving the weapons back at him. "You shoot me and go home and live with it!" And as I say it, I know death right now, right here would be easier of the two.

"You know I can't. Peeta says, discarding the weapons. "Fine, I'll go first anyway." He leans down and rips the bandage off his leg, eliminating the final barrier between his blood and the earth.

"No, you can't kill yourself." I say. I'm on my knees, desperately trying to plaster the bandage back onto his wound.

"Katniss." He says. "It's what I want."

 _YOU FOOL!_ I think. It's what I want to say, but I don't.

"You're not leaving me here alone." I say in tears. Because if he dies here, I'll never go home, not really. I'll spend the rest of my life trying to think my way out. I'd be like Haymitch, just a shell of my former self.

"Listen." He says, pulling me to my feet. "We both know that they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please take it. For me."

And he goes on about how he loves me, what life would be without me but I've stopped listening because his previous words are trapped in my mind.

 _We both know that they have to have their victor._

Yes. They have to have a victor. Without a victor, the whole thing would blow up in the Gamemakers' faces. They'd have failed the Capitol. Might possibly even be executed, slowly and painfully while the cameras broadcast it to every screen in the country.

 _If Peeta and I were to die, or they thought we were._ I think.

My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt. Peeta sees it and clamps his hand on my wrist.

"No, I won't let you." He says.

"Trust me." I whisper, with a wink.

He holds my gaze for long moment, and then he lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a spoonful of berries into Peeta's palm. Then I fill my own.

"On the count of three?" I ask.

Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three." He says

We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight.

"Hold them out. I want everybody to see." He says.

 _They wanted a dramatic showdown, they're getting a dramatic showdown._ I think, as I spread out my fingers; letting the dark berries glisten in sun.

I give Peeta's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye, and we begin counting.

"One."

 _Maybe I'm wrong._ I think.

"Two."

 _Maybe they don't care if we both die._ I think.

"Three."

It's too late to change my mind. I lift my hand to my mouth, taking one last look at the world. The berries had just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare. The frantic voice Claudius Templesmith's shouts above them.

"Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I'm pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-four Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. I give you – the tributes of District Twelve!"


	26. Chapter 26

I spew the berries from my mouth, wiping my tongue with the end of my shirt to make sure no juice remains. Peeta pulls me to the lake where we flush our mouths with water, and then collapse into each other's arms.

"You didn't swallow any?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "You?"

"I guess I'd be dead by now if I did." I say.

Peeta was about to respond, but I cut him off. My lips were crashing against his, and the entire time we were kissing I could hear the roaring crowd in the Capitol echoing throughout the arena through the speakers.

The hovercraft materializes overhead and two ladders drop, only there is no way I'm letting go of Peeta. I keep one arm around him as I help him up, and we each place a foot on the first rung of the ladder. The electric current freezes us in place, and this time I'm glad because I don't think Peeta can hang on for the whole ride. And since my eyes were looking down, I can see while our muscles are immobile, nothing is preventing Peeta's blood from draining out of his leg. Sure enough, the minute the door closes behind us and the current stops, he slumps to the floor unconscious.

My fingers are still gripping the back of his jacket so tightly that when they take him away it tears leaving me with a fistful of black fabric. Doctors in sterile white, masked and gloved, already prepped to operate, go into action. Peeta's so pale and still on the silver table, tubes and wires springing out of him every which way, I almost forget we're out of the Games and I see the doctors as one more threat, one more pack of mutts designed to kill him. Petrified, I lunge for him, but I'm caught and thrust back into another room and a glass door seals between us. I pound on the glass, screaming my head off. Everyone ignores me, except some Capitol attendant, who appears behind me and offers me a beverage.

I slump down on the floor, my face against the door, staring uncomprehendingly at the crystal glass in my hand. Icy cold, filled with orange juice, a straw with a frilly white collar. How wrong it looks in my bloody, filthy hand with its dirt-caked nails and scars. My mouth waters at the smell, but I place it carefully on the floor, not trusting anything so clean and pretty.

Through the glass, I see doctors working feverishly on Peeta, their brows creased in concentration. I see the flow of liquids, pumping through the tubes. I see a wall of dials and lights that mean nothing to me. I'm not sure, but I think his heart stopped twice.

It's like being home again when they bring in the hopelessly mangle person from the mine explosion, or the woman in her third day of labor, or a famished child struggling against pneumonia and my mom and Prim wear the same look on their faces. Now is the time to run away to the woods, to hide until the patient is long gone and in another part of the Seam the hammers make the coffin.

But I'm held here by both the hovercraft walls and the same force that holds the loved ones of the dying. How often I've seen them, ringed around our kitchen table and I thought, _Why don't they leave? Why do they stay to watch?_

And now I know. It's because they have no choice.

I startle when I catch someone staring at me from only a few inches away and then realize it's my own face reflecting back in the glass. Wild eyes, hollow cheeks, my hair in a tangle mat. Rabid. Feral. Mad. No wonder everyone is keeping a safe distance from me.

 _Why are they keeping a safe distance from me? This is the Seventy-Fourth Games, they should be used to my appearance by now._ I think.

The next thing I know we've landed back on the roof of the Training Center and they're taking Peeta but leaving me behind the door. I start hurling myself against the glass, shrieking and I think I catch a glimpse of pink hair – it must be Effie, it has to be Effie coming to my rescue – when the needle jabs me from behind.

When I wake, I'm afraid to move at first. The entire ceiling glows with a soft yellow light allowing me to see that I'm in a room containing just my bed. No doors, no windows are visible. The room smells of something sharp and antiseptic. My right arm has several tubes that extend into the wall behind me. I'm naked, but the bedclothes are soothing against my skin. I tentatively lift my left hand above the cover. Not only has it been scrubbed clean, the nails are filed in perfect ovals, the scars from the burns are less prominent. I touch my cheek, my lips, the puckered scar above my eyebrow, and I'm running my fingers through my silken hair when I freeze. Apprehensively I ruffle the hair by my left ear. No, it wasn't an illusion. I can hear again.

I try and sit up, but some sort of wide restraining band around my waist is keeping me from rising more than a couple inches. The physical confinement makes me panic and I'm trying to pull myself up and wriggle my hips through the band when a portion of the wall slides open and in steps the redheaded Avox girl carrying a tray. The sight of her calms me and I stop trying to escape. I want to ask her a million questions, but I know any familiarity would cause her harm. Obviously I'm being closely monitored. She sets the tray across my thighs, and presses something that raises me into a sitting positon. While she adjusts my pillow, I risk one question. I ask it out loud, as clearly as my rusty voice will allow, so nothing will seem secretive.

"Did Peeta make it?" I ask.

She gives me a nod, and as she slips a spoon in my hand, I feel the pressure of friendship.

 _Too bad I can't bring you with me._ I think.

I guess she did not wish me dead after all. And Peeta has made it. Of course, he did. With all their expensive equipment here. Still, I hadn't been sure until now.

As the Avox leaves the door closes noiselessly behind her and I turn hungrily to the tray. A bowl of clear broth, a small serving of applesauce, and a glass of water.

 _That's it?_ I think grouchily.

Shouldn't my homecoming meal be a little more spectacular? But I find it's an effort to finish the spare meal before me. My stomach seems to have shrunk to the size of a chestnut, and I have to wonder how long I've been out because I had no trouble eating a fairly sizable breakfast that last morning in the arena. There's usually a lag of few days between the end of the competition and the presentation of the victor so they can put the starving, wounded mess of a person back together again. Somewhere Cinna and Portia will be creating our wardrobes for the public appearance. Haymitch and Effie will be arranging the banquet for our sponsors, and reviewing the questions for our final interview. Back home, District 12 is probably in chaos as they try and organize the homecoming celebrations for Peeta and me, given the last one was close to thirty years ago.

Home! Prim and my mom! And even Gale, it would be nice to see him again. Even the thought of Prim's scruffy old cat makes me smile. Soon I will be home!

I want to get out of this bed. To see Peeta and Cinna, to find out more about what's going on. And why shouldn't I? I feel fine. But as I start to work my way out of the bands. I feel a cold liquid seep into my veins from one of the tubes and almost immediately I lose consciousness.

This happens on and off for an indeterminate amount of time. My waking, eating, and, even though I resist the impulse to try and escape the bed, being knocked out again. I seem to be in a strange, continual twilight. Only a few things register. The redheaded Avox girl has not returned since the feeding, my scars are disappearing, and do I imagine it? Or do I hear a man's voice yelling. Not in the Capitol accent, but in the more rough cadence of home. And I can't help having a vague, comforting feeling that someone is looking out for me.

Then finally, the time arrives when I come to and there's nothing plugged into my right arm. The restraint around my middle has be removed and I'm allowed to move around. I start to sit up, but I'm arrested by the sight of my hands. The skin's perfection, smooth and glowing. Not only are the scars from the arena gone, but those accumulated over the years of hunting have vanished without a trace. My forehead feels like satin, and when I try to find the burn on my calf, there's nothing.

I slip my legs out of bed, nervous about how they will bear my weight, and find them strong and steady. Lying at the foot of the bed is an outfit that makes me flinch. It's what all the tributes wore into the arena.

 _Or what's left of it._ I think.

I stare at it as if it had teeth until I remember that, of course, this is what I will wear when I greet my team.

I'm dressed in less than a minute and fidgeting in front of the wall where I know there's a door even if I can't see it when suddenly it slides open. I step into a wide, deserted hall that appears to have no other doors on it. But it must. And behind one of them must be Peeta. Now that I'm conscious and moving, I'm becoming more and more anxious about him. He must be alright or the Avox girl wouldn't have said so.

 _But I need to see him for myself._ I think.

"Peeta!" I call out, since there's no one to ask. I hear my name in response, but it's not his voice. It's a voice that provokes irritation at first, and then eagerness. Effie.

I turn to see them all waiting in a big chamber at the end hall – Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna. My feet take off without hesitation. Maybe a victor should show more restraint, more superiority, especial when she knows this will be on tape, but I don't care. I run for them and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch's arms first. When he whispers in my ears "Nice job, sweetheart," it doesn't even sound sarcastic. Effie's somewhat teary and keeps patting my hair and talking about how she told everyone we were pearls. Cinna just hugs me tight and doesn't say anything. Then I notice that Portia is absent and get a bad feeling.

"Where's Portia? Is she with Peeta? He's alright, isn't he? I mean, he's alive?" I blurt out.

"He's fine. Only they want to do the reunion live on air at the ceremony." Haymitch says.

"Oh. That's all." I say. The awful moment of think Peeta's dead again passes. "I guess I wanted to see that myself."

"Go with Cinna. He has to get you ready." Haymitch says.

It's a relief to be alone with Cinna, to feel his protective around my shoulders as he guides me away from the cameras, and down a few passages to an elevator that leads to the lobby of the training center. The hospital then is far underground, even beneath the gym where the tributes practice tying knots and throwing spears. The windows of the lobby are darkened and a handful of guards stand on duty. There is nobody else to see us cross to the tribute elevator. Our footsteps echo in the emptiness. And when we ride up to the twelfth floor, the faces of all the tributes who will never return flash across my mind and there's a heavy, tight place in my chest.

When the elevator door opens, Venia, Flavius, and Octavia engulf me, talking so quickly and ecstatically I can't make out their words. The sentiment is clear though. They are truly thrilled to see me and I'm happy to see them too, but, although not like I was to see Cinna. It's more in the way one might be glad to see an affection trio of pets at the end of a particularly difficult day.

They sweep me into the dining room and I get a real meal – roast beef, peas and soft rolls – although my portions are still being strictly controlled. Because when I ask for seconds, I'm refused.

"No, no, no. They don't want it all coming back up on the stage." Octavia says, but secretly slips me an extra roll under the table to let me know that she's on my side. I wink back at her.

We go back to my room and Cinna disappears for a while as the prep team gets me ready.

"Oh, they did a full body polish on you." Flavius says enviously. "Not a flaw left on your skin."

 _Not that Peeta would mind._ I think.

But when I look at my naked body in the mirror, all I can see is how skinny I am. I mean, I'm sure I was worse when I came out of the arena, but I can easily count my ribs.

They take care of the shower settings for me, and they got to work on my hair, nails, and makeup when I'm done. They chatter so continuously that I barely have to reply, which is good because I don't feel talkative. It's funny, because even though they're rattling on about the Games, it's all about where they were or what they were doing or how they felt when a specific event occurred.

"I was still in bed!" "I just had my eyebrows dyed!" "I swear I nearly fainted!" Everything was about them.

 _By all means, please carry on. It's not like twenty-two children weren't just murdered over the past two weeks._ I think sarcastically to myself.

We don't wallow around in the Games this way in District 12. We grit our teeth and watch because we must and try to get back to business as soon as possible when they're over. To keep from hating the prep team, I effectively tune out most of what they're saying.

Cinna comes in with what appears to be an unassuming yellow dress across his arms

"Have you given up on the whole "girl on fire" thing?" I ask.

"You tell me." He says, and slips it over my head.

I immediately notice the padding over my breast, adding curves that hunger stole from me. My hands got to my chest and I frown.

"I know." Cinna says before I can object. "The Gamemakers wanted to alter you surgically. Haymitch had a huge fight with them over it. This was the compromise. Wait don't forget the shoes."

Cinna stops me from looking at my reflection, so Venia can help me into a pair of flat leather sandals and I turn to the mirror.

I'm still the "girl on fire." The sheer fabric softly glows. Even the slight movement in the air sends a ripple up my body. By comparison, the chariot costume seems garish, the interview costume too contrived. In this dress, I give the illusion of wearing candlelight.

"What do you think?" Cinna asks.

"I think it's the best yet." I say.

When I manage to pull my eyes away from the fabric, I'm in for something of a shock. My hairs loose, held back by a simple hairband. The makeup rounds and fills out the sharp angles of my face. A clear polish coats my nails. The sleeveless dress gathers at my ribs, not my waist, largely eliminating any help the padding would have given my figure. The hem falls just to my knees. Without heels you can see my true stature. I look, very simply, like a girl. A young one. Fourteen at most. Innocent. Harmless. Yes, it's shocking that Cinna pulled this off when you remember that I've just won the Games.

This is a very calculated look. Nothing Cinna designs is arbitrary. I bit my lip trying to figure out his motivation.

"I thought it would be something more… sophisticated looking." I say.

"I thought Peeta would like this better." Cinna says.

I flinch imperceptibly, and squint my eyes at Cinna. Before Cinna could react, I turn and look back into the mirror. Peeta? This isn't about Peeta. It's about the Gamemakers and the Capitol and the audience. Although I don't understand Cinna's design, it's a reminder that the Games aren't quite finished. And beneath his benign reply, I sense a warning. Of something he can't say in front of his own team.

We take the elevator to the level where we trained. It's customary for the victory and his or her support team to rise from beneath the stage. First the prep team, followed by the escort, the stylist, the mentor, and finally the victor. Only this year, with two victors, who both share an escort and a mentor, the whole thing has had to be rethought. I find myself in a poorly lit area under the stage. A brand-new metal plate has been installed to transport me upward. You can still see small piles of sawdust, smell fresh paint. Cinna and the prep team peel off to change into their costumes and take their positions, leaving me alone. In the gloom, I see a makeshift wall about ten yards away and assume Peeta's behind it.

The rumbling of the crowd is loud, so I don't notice Haymitch until he touches my shoulder. I spring away, startled, still half in the arena, I guess.

"Easy, just me. Let's have a look at you." Haymitch says.

I hold my arms out and turn once. "Good enough."

 _It's not much of a compliment, but then again, this is Haymitch I'm talking about._ I think.

"But?" I say.

Haymitch's eyes shift around the musty holding space, and he seems to make a decision. "But nothing. How about a hug for luck?"

Okay, that's an odd request from Haymitch, unless.

 _Unless he wants to explain the warning that Cinna couldn't give me._ I think.

And I'm proven correct because when I wrap my arms around his neck, I find myself trapped in his embrace. He begins talking, very fast, very quietly in my ear, my hair concealing my lips.

"Listen up. You're in trouble. Word is the Capitol's furious about you showing them up in the arena. The one thing they can't stand is being laughed at and they're the joke of Panem." Haymitch says.

I feel dread coursing through me now, but I laugh as though Haymitch said something delightful because nothing is covering my mouth.

"So what?" I ask.

"Your only defense can be you were so madly in love you weren't responsible for your actions." Haymitch pulls back, adjusting my hairband. "Got it, sweetheart?"

 _He could be talking about anything._ I think.

"Got it. Does Peeta know?" I ask.

"Don't have to. He's already there." Haymitch says.

"But you think I'm not?" I say, glaring at Haymitch. I take the opportunity to straighten the red bow tie Cinna must have wrestled him into.

"It's not about being there, and more about warning you not to rub it in their faces; but then again when does it matter what I think?" Haymitch asked.

 _Touché_. I think; albeit, I'm mad that Haymitch didn't tell Peeta. He neglected to inform Peeta of the plan, even if he was on the same page without being told.

"Better take our places." Haymitch says, leading me to the metal plate. "This is your night sweetheart. Enjoy it." He kiss me on my forehead, and disappears into the gloom.

I'm shaking badly. At first I thought it was because I was self-conscious of my dress, it being too short, but in reality I'm mad at Haymitch for ignoring Peeta again. What I thought my body shaking was because of excitement; now I'm certain it's because of the rage that is following through my veins. Peeta is going to be mad at me for manipulating him. Peeta won't care for technicalities; manipulation is just that, manipulation.

 _I wonder if I can get out this debacle with my heart still intact. Probably not._ I think.

The damp, moldy smell beneath the stage threatens to choke me. A cold, clammy sweat breaks out on my skin and I can't rid myself of the feeling that the boards above my head are about to collapse and bury me alive under the rubble. When I left the arena, when the trumpets played, I was supposed to be safe. From then on. For the rest of my life. But what if Haymitch says is true, and he's got no reason to lie, I've never been in such a dangerous place in my life.

It's much worse than being hunted in the arena. There, I could only die. End of story. But out here Prim, my mom, Gale, the people of District 12, everybody I care about back home could be punished if I don't pour out my heart like Haymitch wants me too.

 _I have no choice, but to sacrifice my heart again._ I think.

It's funny, in the arena when I pulled out the berries, I was only thinking of outsmarting the Gamemakers, not how my actions would reflect on the Capitol. But the Hunger Games are their weapon and you are not supposed to defeat it. So now they will act like they were in control the whole time. As if they orchestrated the whole event, right down to the double suicide.

 _Peeta, baby. I'm so sorry._ I think.

I have to warn Peeta. Warn him of the wrath that could come our way. It's the only thing I can do; attempt to lessen the blow. The berries serve three purposes: the first was because I wanted to punish the Gamemakers for all he deaths they had cause this year. The second was because I wanted to prove that if I die, it will be on my terms. And lastly because I love Peeta.

 _I know it's morbid to commit suicide out of love for someone, but Peeta was about to do the very same thing for me._ I think.

I brace myself as the metal plate lifts me up onto the stage; beginning the final act.

 _And the most dangerous part of the Hunger Games is about to begin._ I think.


	27. Chapter 27

There's a few minutes delay before they raise me up onto the platform; the introductions are a must. I hear the anthem booming in my ears, and then I hear Caesar Flickerman greeting the crowd. I'm taking any chances, I won't rely on Caesar to get me though this, I will rely only Peeta and my heart. The crowd breaks into applause as the prep teams are presented. I imagine Flavius, Venia, and Octavia bouncing around and taking ridiculous, bobbing bows. It's safe to say they're the most clueless The Effie's introduced. How long she has waited for this moment. I hope she can enjoy this moment because as misguide as Effie can be, she has a keen instinct about certain things and must at least suspect we're in trouble.

 _We're in trouble? Or just me?_ I think. I think back to how Peeta wanted to stop me from pulling out the berries, but then he conceded. _The Capitol thinks Peeta followed my lead._ Another thought entered my head.

Portia and Cinna receive huge applauses, of course, they've been brilliant, had a dazzling debut. I now understand Cinna's choice of dress for me tonight. I'll need to look as girlish and innocent as possible. Haymitch's appearance brings a round of stomping that goes on for at least five minutes. Well, he's accomplished a first. Keeping not only one but two tributes alive. What if he hadn't warned me in time? Would I have acted differently? Flaunted the moment with the berries in the Capitol's face? No, I don't think so. But I could have been a lot less convincing than I need to be now. Right now. Because I finally feel the plate lifting me up on to the stage.

 _Country girl act!_ I think.

I look around in awe of the crowd, in spite of the blinding light, and the deafening roar of the crowd. I give a little curtsey, and grab my dress; to keep it from moving. The audience is in an uproar of cheers and approval because of my little bow. Then there's Peeta a few yards away. He looks so clean, healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers, back almost losing his balance, and that's when I realize the slim, metal contraption is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other, my arms around his neck his right arm around my waist pulling me flush against his body, as the audience goes insane. After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps him on the shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him away without even a glance at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows it or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right.

Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good natured shove towards the victor's chair.

 _And I miss his lips already._ I think.

Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers had provide a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mom would have called it a love seat, I think. I'm back in the garden on the roof of the Training Center again, I kick my sandals off, tuck my feet to the side, and rest my head on Peeta's shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I'm back in that cave again, curled up against him, trying to stay warm. I can feel a ghost of a shiver go down my spine, which Peeta did not miss because he felt the same thing. As Peeta kisses my forehead, I close my eyes and let a tiny smile cross my lips. I can hear sounds of adoration come from the audience at sight of Peeta kissing me.

His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia put him in long black pants. No sandals either, but pair of sturdy black boots he keeps firmly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna would have given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point.

Caesar Flickerman makes a few jokes, and then it's time for the show. This will last exactly three hours and its required viewing for all of Panem. As the lights dim and the seal appears on the screen. I realized I'm not prepared for this. I do not want to watch my twenty-two fellow tributes die, again. I saw enough of them die the first time. My heart starts pounding and I have the strong impulse to run. How have the other victors faced this alone? During the highlights, periodically show the winner's reaction up on a box in the corner of the screen. I think back to earlier years… some are triumphant, pumping their fists in the air, beating their chest. Most just seemed stun. All I know is that the only thing keeping me on the love seat is Peeta – his arm around my shoulder, his other hand claimed both of mine. Of course, the previous victors didn't have the Capitol looking for a way to destroy them.

Condensing several weeks into three hours is quite a feat, especially when you consider how many cameras were going at once. Whoever puts the highlights together has to choose what story to tell. This year, for the first time, they tell a love story. I'm glad though, because it supports the whole crazy-in-love thing that's my defense for defying the Capitol, plus it means we won't have as much time to linger on all the deaths.

The first half hour or so focuses on the pre-arena events, the reaping, the chariot ride through the Capitol, our training scores, and our interviews. There's this sort of upbeat soundtrack playing under it that makes it twice as awful because, of course, almost everyone on screen is dead.

Once we're in the arena, there's detailed coverage bloodbath and then the filmmakers basically alternate between shots of tributes dying and shots of us. There's no question that Peeta is carrying the romance thing on his shoulders.

 _In the beginning at least._ I think.

Now I see what the audience saw, how he mislead the Careers about me, stayed awake the entire night under the tracker jacker tree, fought Cato to let me to escape and even while he laid in the mud bank, whispered my name in his sleep. I seem heartless in comparison – dodging fireballs, dropping nests, and blowing up supplies – until I go hunting for Rue. They play her death in full, the spearing, my failed rescued attempt, my arrow through the boy's throat from District 1, Rue drawing her last breath in my arms. And the song. I get to sing the song in full. Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games. But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her with the flowers.

 _Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion._ I think, sarcastically.

Things pick up for me when they've announced that two tributes from the same district can live and I shout Peeta's name and then I clap my hand over my mouth. A few seconds later the cameras get me calling Peeta baby; to which I feel Peeta's arm tighten around me. If I've seemed indifferent to him earlier, I make up for it now, by finding him, nursing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and so freely giving my kisses. Objectively I can see the mutts and Cato's death are as gruesome as ever, but again, I feel it happens to people I've never met.

And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta's name as they try to revive him.

In terms of survival, it's my best moment all night.

The anthem's playing yet again and we rise as President Snow himself takes the stage followed by a little girl carrying a cushion with a crown on it. There's just one crown, though, and you can hear the crowd's confusion – whose head will he put it on? – until President Snow gives it a twist and it separates into two halves. He places the first around Peeta's brow with a smile on his face. He's still smiling when he settles the second on my head, but in his eye, just inches from mine, are unforgivable as a snake's.

That's when I know that even though both of us would have eaten the berries, I'm to blame for having the idea. I'm the instigator. I'm the one to be punished.

Much bowing and cheering follows. My arm is about to fall off when Caesar Flickerman finally bids the audience good night, reminding them to tune in tomorrow for the finale interviews.

 _As if they have a choice._ I think.

Peeta and I are whisked away to the president's mansion for the Victor's Banquet, where we have very little time to eat as Capitol officials and particularly generous sponsors elbowing one another out of the way as they try to get their picture with us. Face after beaming face flashes by, becoming increasing intoxicated as the evening wears on. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of Haymitch, which is reassuring, or President Snow, which was terrifying, but I keep laughing and thanking people and smiling as my picture is taken. The one thing I never do is let go of Peeta's hand.

The sun is just peeking over the horizon as we straggle back to the twelfth floor of the Training Center. I think now I will finally get a word alone with Peeta, but Haymitch sends him off with Portia to get fitted for the interview and personally escorts me to my door.

"Why can't I talk to him?" I ask, pissed off.

"Plenty of time to talk when we go home. Go to bed, you're on at two." Haymitch says.

The rage I felt under the stage when Haymitch said that Peeta didn't need to be inform of the plan starts flowing through my veins and arteries again. Haymitch knows something is up, but doesn't get a chance to ask because with my left hand I'm opening the door to my room, but my right hand reaches out and violently grabs him by the collar. I bring him so close to my face that our noses are an inch from each other.

"Let me be perfectly clear. I don't know what game you're playing, but when this blows up in our faces, and blow up it will, I'm the one who is going to suffer the consequences." I growl at Haymitch.

I shove Haymitch away, and slam the door in his face. I tear the dress off my body, and step into the shower. I let the water wash away the rage, sorrow, and longing. Mixed in with the falling water are my tears, but I don't know they're there because of the shower droplets. I know that if things go keeping going the course they're on Peeta is going to blame me for everything.

 _Not that I blame him. He would expect me to warn him if there was a change in the plan; seeing as how Haymitch basically ignored him the entire time we were in the Games._ I think.

I think I can figure out the reason for Haymitch to only give gifts to one of us, but that doesn't excuse his actions of indifference and unwillingness to warn Peeta. He could have had Portia warn him.

 _Or could I have warned him. I could have done it during the video collage, but I was too numb to move because of the shock of having to relive the deaths of the other tributes; I couldn't move. I could have warned him, pretending to be whispering in his ears about what I was experiencing at the time in the video, but I was unable to move. I was barely able to breath._ I think.

By the time I get out of the shower the hot water had run out, and I'm left shivering in the freezing cold water. After I dry off and put some fresh clothes on I decide to leave to go talk to Peeta, but when I go to exit my room the door had been locked from the outside. I suspect Haymitch initially, but then there's a more insidious fear that the Capitol might be monitoring and confining me. I've been unable to escape since the Hunger Games began, but this feels different, more personal. This feels like I've been imprisoned for a crime and I'm awaiting sentencing. I quickly get back in bed and fall asleep until Effie Trinket comes to alert of to the start of another "big, big, big day!"

I have about five minutes to eat a hot bowl of grain and stew before the prep team descends. All I have to say is, "The crowd loved you!" and it's unnecessary to speak for next couple hours. When Cinna comes in, he shoos them out and dresses me in a white, gauzy dress and pink shoes. Then he personally adjusts my make up until I seem to radiate a soft, rosy glow. We make idle chitchat, but I'm afraid to ask him anything of real importance because after that incident with the door, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being constantly watched.

The interview takes place right down the hall in the sitting room. A space has been cleared and the love seat has been moved in and surrounded by vases of red and pink roses.

 _Had it been under different circumstances I would have loved this setting, but I'm too terrified to enjoy it._ I think.

There are only a handful of cameras to record the event. No live audience at least.

Caesar Flickerman gives me a warm hug when I come in.

"Congratulations, Katniss. How are you faring?" Caesar asks.

"Fine. Just nervous about the interview." I say, trying to calm my nerves.

"Don't be. We're going to have a fabulous time." Caesar says, giving my cheek a reassuring pat.

"I just want the interview to go well, that's all." I say.

"Nothing you say will be wrong." Caesar says.

And I'm think, _Oh, Caesar, if only that were true. But actually, President Snow may be arranging some sort of "accident" for me as we speak._

Then Peeta's there looking handsome in red and white, pulling me off to the side.

"I hardly get to see you. Haymitch is bent on keeping us apart." He says.

I pull Peeta in like I'm going to kiss his cheek, turning my back to the crowd, but I use my hair to cover his mouth.

"Listen carefully because I don't have time to explain the whole thing. I'm in serious trouble with the Capitol, and I'm willing to bet right now that everybody in the room is watching us. The only way to get out of this in one piece we are going to have to keep using the Star-Crossed Lovers act that you created the night of the interview. But I want you to know that I understand that Star-Crossed Lovers is not an act to you, but I also need you to understand that it's not an act for me either. So whatever I'm about to say, or do is not for show. I'm not trying to manipulate you into getting a favorable outcome for me." I say.

"I understand." Peeta says.

Peeta pulls away from me and has a smile on his face, but I can see the sadness in his eyes.

"Please forgive me." I whisper to Peeta.

Before Peeta could respond they're ready for us. As we're taking our place on the love seat, I kick my shoes off and cuddle into Peeta, and Peeta wraps an arm around my shoulders. Peeta leans to place a gentle kiss on my head, but uses my hair to cover his mouth.

"I wish it was that simple." Peeta whispered.

 _If he only knew the truth._ I thought, sadly

Someone counts backward and just like that, we're being broadcast live to the entire country. Caesar Flickerman is wonderful, teasing, joking, and getting choked up when the occasion presents itself. He and Peeta already have the rapport they established that night of the first interview, the easy banter, so I just smile and speak as when I feel it's necessary. I won't let Peeta carry the whole thing on his back.

Eventually though, Caesar starts to pose questions that insist on fuller answers

"Well, Peeta, we know from our days in the cave, that it love at first sight from what, age five?" Caesar asks.

"From the moment I laid eyes on her." Peeta says.

"But Katniss what a ride for you. I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him. When did you realize that you were in love with him?" asks Caesar.

"Oh, that's a hard one..." I give a faint, breathy laugh and look down at my hands.

 _The true answer to that question was the night of the opening ceremonies, but that is not the answer I can give._ I think.

"Well I know when it hit me. That night when you shout his name from the tree." Caesar says.

"That would be true because up until that point he sacrificed himself so I could get away from Cato, I didn't know what to think. I saw him with the Cato and his gang and I felt my heart fall into my stomach. I couldn't pass judgement until he had time to explain his actions. So for the time being I put my feelings out of my mind until I was able to talk to him. But that night in the tree changed everything." I said.

"Why do you think that was?" Caesar asked.

"Maybe… for the first time… there was a chance I could have a future with him." I said.

Peeta stares at me in disbelief, but from behind the cameraman I hear Haymitch give a sigh of relief and I know I said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he is so moved. Peeta presses his forehead to into my temple and asks, "So now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?"

I turn into him. "Attempt to make up for lost time." I say with a watery smile. And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.

For Caesar, this is a natural place to segue into all the ways we got hurt in the arena, from burns, to stings, wounds. But it's not until we get around to the mutts that I forget I'm on camera. When Caesar asks Peeta how his "new leg" is working out.

"New leg?" I say, and I can't help but reaching out and pulling up the bottom of Peeta's pants. "Oh, no." I whisper, taking in the metal and plastic device that has replaced his flesh.

"No one has told you?" Caesar asks.

"I haven't had the chance to." Peeta said, trying to keep me calm. He can see it in my eyes that I'm about to panic.

"It's my fault." I say. "Because I used the tourniquet."

"Yes, but I'm alive because of it." Peeta said.

"He's right." Caesar said. "He would have bled to death for sure without it."

I guess this is true, but I can't help but feeling upset about it to the extent that I'm afraid that I might cry and then I remember everybody in the country is watching me so I bury my face in Peeta's shirt. It takes them a couple of minutes to coax me be back out because it's better in shirt, where no one can see me, and when I do come out, Caesar backs off questioning me until I can recover. In fact, he pretty much leaves me alone until the berries come up.

"Katniss, I've know you've had a shock, but I've got to ask. That moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going through your mind… hm?" Caesar asked.

I take a moment to gather my thoughts. I know what I'm going to say, but I have a feeling that it's going to upset Peeta, but it's too late to worry about that now. I look in Peeta his eyes, and he stares back into mine. All I can see is sorrow in them, which I'm certain is the same thing he can see in my eyes.

"To live a life without Peeta would be a meaningless life. I would be nothing more than a shell of my former self. So if I had to choose between living without Peeta, and dying with him; I choose to die with him." I say.

"Peeta? Anything to add?" Caesar asked.

"No. I think that goes for both of us." Peeta says.

I look Peeta in his eyes, and I see that he happy. But I'm no fool, he still wants to know what was so important that I had to manipulate him to stay out of trouble. Caesar signs off and it's over. Everyone's laughing, crying and hugging, but I'm still not sure how I did until I reach Haymitch.

"Okay?" I whisper.

"Perfect." Haymitch answers.

I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there's nothing but my mockingjay pin that Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. They drive us through the streets in a car with blackened windows, and the train's waiting for us. We barely have time to say good-bye to Cinna and Portia, although we'll see them in a few months, when we tour the districts for a round of victory ceremonies. It's the Capitols way of reminding the people that the Hunger Games never really go away. We'll be given a lot of useless plaques and everybody will pretend that they love us.

The train begins to move and we're plunged into darkness until we clear the tunnel and I take my first free breath since the reaping. Effie is accompanying us back and Haymitch, too, of course. We eat an enormous dinner and settle in silence in front of the television to watch a replay of the interview. With the Capitol growing farther away every second, I begin to think of home. Of Prim and my mom. Of Gale, and the coming argument. I excuse myself to go change my clothes, but I had missed Haymitch eyeing the two of us.

I change out of the dress and into a plain shirt and pants. As I slowly, and thoroughly wash the make up from my face and put my hair in its braid, I begin transforming back into myself. Katniss Everdeen. A girl who lives in the Seam. Hunts in the woods. Trades in the Hob. I stare in the mirror and try to remember who I was and who I am not, or who I was going to be. When I rejoin the others, Peeta wraps his arm around me, but it feels weird to have Peeta wrap his arm around me knowing that things are about to change.

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we're allowed to go outside. I'm out the door before Haymitch or Peeta could say anything, and I'm walking. There's no need to guards us any longer. I walk about twenty meters away from the train, and then stop. I feel my emotions reaching critical mass, and I wait. It wasn't long. I can hear footsteps approaching, but then they stop. A few seconds later I hear them again. I turn to see Peeta, and he's holding a bunch a wildflowers for me. I try hard not to cry; to appreciate his effort. I know what's coming and it breaks my heart. After a few seconds of silence I hear.

"Are you okay?" Peeta asks.

I shake my head now.

"What's wrong?" Peeta asked.

"You know what's wrong." I say.

"Actually all I know is that were in trouble. I didn't know anything, beyond." Peeta says, in a calming voice.

He knows I struggling really badly with this, but I don't get a chance to respond because Haymitch comes walking up.

"Are you two okay?" Haymitch asked.

"I'm not sure." Peeta said. "I got a cryptic warning from Katniss a few hours ago saying that she was in trouble, and that I had to pretend to be in love with Katniss in order to save her."

"You warn him?" Haymitch asked, staring at me incredulously.

"I don't know why you're mad at her?" Peeta asked.

"There were a hundred different things that could have gone wrong with warning you like that." Haymitch said.

"You're right, there were. But if you had done you job correctly you would have warned me anyways." Peeta said.

"How?" Haymitch asked.

"You could have given Portia a note, and told her to deliver it to me." Peeta said.

"I did what was right with the time I had available. When you're a mentor, you'll understand." Haymitch said, but didn't leave.

I can see it in his eyes, and know what's coming.

"What was the big fuss that got you in trouble?" Peeta asked me.

"The Capitol wasn't too happy with our stunt involving the berries." I said.

"What? What do you mean?" Peeta asked.

"It seemed too rebellious. So Haymitch advised me not to rub it in their faces." I say, wiping tears from my eyes.

"He advised you, but not me?" Peeta asked.

"He said that you didn't need to be advised. He knew that you were smart enough to get it right. I believe his exact words were _don't have to. He's already there._ " I said

"I didn't know there was anything to get right." Peeta said.

"What I meant by that…" Haymitch said, but was cut off.

"No need to explain. You've done enough damage already." Peeta said. "Tell me the truth, how much of it was real and how much of it was for show?"

"None of it was for show, but for some reason I have a feeling that it's not going to matter." I say.

"It definitely does matter." Peeta said.

"What I'm mean is that no matter what I say, you're still going to doubt me even if I am telling the truth." I said.

"Do you blame me?" Peeta asked.

"No." I say.

"Then where do we go from here?" Peeta asks.

"I don't know." I say.

"Then let me know when you figure it out." Peeta says.

"How?" I ask, not sure where to go from here.

"You'll figure it out." Peeta said, turning to walk back to the train.

"Peeta!" I shout.

Peeta stops short, and then turns back to look at me.

"Katniss." Haymitch warned.

I look at Haymitch, seeing the silent warning in his eyes, and then walk away. I drop what I was going to say, not bothering to bring up my warnings I gave well over a month ago.

When I'm out of ear shot Peeta asks.

"Do you hate me?"

"No." Haymitch said.

"Then why did you abandon me in the arena?" Peeta asks, angrily.

"When you were working with the Careers, people avoided me like the plague." Haymitch said.

"What?" Peeta asked.

"It's a very old expression. In truth, Katniss got the short end of the stick here." Haymitch said.

"Why?" Peeta asked.

"She won't say it, probably won't for some time, but she's neck deep in whatever it is with you." Haymitch said.

"She has already said as much." Peeta said.

"I had a girlfriend once, Peeta, and when I watched the two of you in that cave it reminded me when I was with her. Like it or not, but Katniss is right, I'm the one to blame. Katniss took a big risk in telling you that she was in trouble. Do you know why?" Haymitch asked.

"Why?" Peeta asked.

Haymitch didn't say anything. He just tilted his head to the side, and raise both of his eyebrows. Peeta's eyes got big a saucers, and he realized his mistake. Peeta turned and rushed back to the train. By the time Haymitch boarded the train, it was ready to leave the refueling station. Peeta founded me in the dining car, but didn't step in. Peeta saw that I was Effie, so he turn and headed back to his room. But in reality, Effie had just stepped into the room.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" Effie asked.

I look up to see it was Effie, and then debate if I should tell her not.

 _What's there to lose? She's going to go back to the Capitol after the celebrations anyways._ I think.

"No." I say.

"Does it deal with Haymitch, or Peeta?" Effie asked.

"Both, actually." I say.

"Do you know how to fix it?" Effie asked.

"Not really." I say.

"Then give it sometime. They'll come around sooner or later." Effie said.

 _Oh, if that was only that easy._ I thought.

"Effie. How long have you been working with Haymitch as his escort?" I ask.

"Five years, why?" Effie asked.

"Nothing." I asked.

I get up from the table and then head to my room. Every step I take I feel my heart starting to break, and crumble away; missing what I had with Peeta.

 _Looks like I was right._ I thought, bitterly.

I go to bed, and stay asleep all night. I skip breakfast, and make my way to one of the back windows. I just stare off into the distance. Little by little I start to recognize the wooded area, and realize that District 12 is fast approaching. On my left I can hear Peeta walk up. He doesn't say anything at first, he just stares out the window.

"So what happens when we get back?" Peeta asks.

I'm unsure how to answer that. I'm shocked that he's even talking to me, but then again this is Peeta I'm talking about. He put on a convincing show yesterday; yet he couldn't get away from me fast enough even if he wanted too.

"I don't know. I guess we try to forget." I say.

I see Peeta's reflection the window, and he turns to looks at me. I turn slightly to see him in my peripheral vision.

"I don't want to forget." Peeta says.

I flinch imperceptibly, and turn back to the window; I don't want Peeta to know the pain that I'm feeling at this moment. I remember the kiss in the cave the night my head wound started bleeding again, and I'm missing Peeta already.

"I won't be able to." I say.

What I don't see is Peeta staring at me, wondering what I meant. Out the corner of my eye I see Peeta reach his hand out. I look at him unsure.

"For the audience?" He says.

I stare at him, unsure of what's going on. His voice sounded different from yesterday, but I don't have time to contemplate it because we are docking at our station. I take his hand, and hold on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I finally have to let go.


	28. Part II

_A/N: I'm extremely sorry that I was late getting this chapter out! I had half the chapter written and then I went on vacation for a week. Then after I came back i had to finish writing the chapter. I hope the chapter is what you were looking for!_

I set out before dawn, trying to get a good haul before the train gets in. Prim is still in bed, but mom was in the kitchen making breakfast. I kiss her on the cheek and then say as I'm exiting the back door.

"Bye mom!"

"Bye Katniss!" My mom said.

I make my way back to the Seam; stopping by my old home. I pull off my good coat, and pull on my dad's hunting jacket. I kick off my good shoes, and put and on my old hunting boots. I exit my home, and then head into the woods. I stop by the hollowed out log to pick up my bow and arrows, and then I head into the deep into the woods, and await my prey. I find a place good place to hole up at, and then my mind wanders off to three specific events. I continue to dream about them all the time. The first event happened the week the Capitol goon squad had left.

I knew that I was going to have nightmares, so I decide to sleep in a room not near mom or Prim. Well one night I was having another nightmare, but I felt and calming presence come over me. It frightened me a little, but I realized that it was either Prim or my mom that had made their way into my room.

 _No it's mom. Prim probably would have crawled into bed with me._ I think.

"Mom." I say, just above a whisper.

I open my eyes to see her blonde hair, blues eyes, her pale complexion and I begin to cry.

"What's the matter sweetheart?" My mom asked.

"Mom I'm so sorry." I say choking on my emotions.

I sat up, kicking my legs over the edge of the bed, and we hug as I cried myself out. After a while my mom had found her voice.

"Is this because of Peeta almost dying in the Games?" Mom asked.

"Yes." I said. "I'm sorry mom. For treating you like crap when dad died…" I continued.

"I don't care Katniss. I shouldn't have done that to you. I should have done something to help with the grief. I should have attempted to think a plant concoction that might have helped." My mom said.

I can feel her tear on my clothes. After a while I start to lose my grip on reality, and fall asleep. When I wake up the next morning I feel a gentle hand, with a soft touch, caressing my cheek. I wake to see that my mom didn't leave my bedroom during the night.

The second event was about two months after the cameras left. Prim and I were out walking in the square when she saw the bakery. And as usual she would stand outside the bakery and look in. It was at this moment that I remember that I had money.

"Hey Prim." I said, reaching into my pocket pulling out some money.

"Yeah, Katniss." Prims said, looking back at me.

"Why don't you going in there and buy a cake." I said.

"What? Why? We don't have a reason to celebrate." Prim said.

"We don't need a reason. I want you to go in there and look at all the cakes. If there is one that you like I want you buy it." I said.

"Why?" Prim asked.

"Why else, little duck because I love you." I said, giving Prim a peck on the cheek.

I give Prim some money, and she heads into the store but I wait outside.

"You coming in?" Prim asked.

I shake my head.

"You sure?" She asked.

I nod my head, even though Peeta's voice sounded different when we pulled into the station two months ago, I get the feeling that he's still mad at me. Prim enters bakery, and is immediately attacked by Mrs. Mellark. But Peeta comes out, and starts talking with Prim. Peeta makes eye contact with me, and I'm in tears that he's personally helping Prim. He breaks eye contact with me, and continues to help Prim. I move away from the front window, and continue to cry. Then after a while I hear Prim's footsteps approaching me.

"Are you okay?" Prim asked.

"For the time being. Oh my, that's a pretty design, where did you find it?" I asked, wiping my tears.

The design on the cake had both Katniss and Evening Primrose flowers on it.

"Peeta knows that I liked to look at the cakes. So he thought that he would do something special for me." Prim said, beaming.

I look back into the bakery window and I can see Peeta was looking at me. The feelings of guilt and sadness wash over me. I don't have the courage to enter the bakery and tell Peeta that I'm sorry, so I mouth thank you, and then turn to leave with Prim. I wipe more tears from my eye.

"Is everything okay between the two of you?" Prim asks.

What I don't see is Peeta stepping out the front door after we walk out of view to watch us go. He can hear bits of our conversation, but soon enough we were out of range.

The third event was when I went tell Gale that I wasn't in love with him, and was that a hard conversation to have. It was probably a week or two after we returned, and all the Capitol personnel had left. I sent word that I want to talk to him. His mom, Hazelle, said that his only free day is Sunday. I said that I would meet him on Sunday. Hunting was brought up, so I brought my bow and arrows along. I get there early, and I waited him out, the sun hasn't risen over the horizon yet. I can almost imagine what's going through his head: hurt, betrayal, and anger; just to name a few. I have an arrow knocked, string slightly drawn ready for either a target, or a predator to come over the hill. It was a chilly morning. I remember not only the chilly cold, but the restless nights that are still taking their toll. That or it was I still jumping at any and all things. Still thinking I'm in the arena. I hear a noise and I turn and draw my arrow back preparing to fire on a wild beast.

"Whoa! Whoa! Easy." Gale said, trying to calm me down and not getting shot at the same time.

We held eye contact for a moment, and even though his face isn't showing any signs of the hurt that I delivered a few weeks back I can see it in his eyes.

"Saw some turkeys on the way here. Crossed right in front of me like I wasn't even there." Gale said.

"How rude of them." I said, not sure what to say.

"That's what happens when you spend six days a week working in the mines. Stupid birds start to think they own these woods." Gale said.

We stare in each other's eyes, and I can see the hurt now.

"Just ask it." I say.

"Was it real?" Gale asked.

"Between us, or me and Peeta?" I asked.

"Us." Gale said, testily. "I've seen a lot of women kiss before, and what you did with Peeta was definitely real!"

"Then I guess the question that you're trying to ask is if I feel anything for you, right?" I ask.

"Yeah, I did." He asked.

I choose to be straight with Gale. I may not have to talk to Peeta until he's ready, but I need Gale. Gale was my best friend, and now that I've fractured our friendship with my relationship with Peeta I have to make amends for the damage I've done. We were friends before I was lovers with Peeta.

"Then the answer is no. I don't feel anything for you." I said.

I look Gale dead in his eyes, and I can see all the emotions that I mentioned earlier, and then there were emotions that I couldn't have accounted for. I wait for Gale to work himself out before I speak.

 _Actually I'll let him continue._ I think.

After a few moments Gale had regained his composure, and then asked.

"Why are you out here with me then? Why are you with Peeta?" He asked.

"Because my actions at the end of the Games got me into trouble. At great risk to myself, I gave a weak warning about being in trouble. I told Peeta the truth, and it too was much of a betrayal that he couldn't stomach it." I said.

"Wow. It seems that you got the short end of the stick there." Gale said. It looked like he had a tiny grin on his face.

"Okay Gale, Peeta wasn't even my fault. When I say Peeta wasn't my fault I mean that Peeta turning his back on me wasn't my fault. Haymitch refused to deliver a message, and I took it upon myself to tell him. Now your feelings of betrayal, anger, and any other feelings that I cause you during the Games that was my fault." I said.

"So, what? You came here expecting me to forgive you and fill the gap that Peeta isn't willing to fill right now?" He asked.

"Don't be so stupid Gale. I've already caused you a great amount of grief, I wouldn't do that to you." I said, just inches from shouting at him.

"So, what is this? Have you come to ask my forgiveness?" He asked.

"Yes." I said.

Gale was stunned at first. He was expecting many different scenarios to play out, but this is one he wasn't expecting. When he didn't respond I plowed on through.

"I won't deny any accusations that you have. What happened in the arena was real; the people in the Capitol thought it was for show, but it wasn't." I said.

"Why tell me?" He asked.

"If the situation was reversed and I was in love with you, but you fell in love with another girl instead, I'd want you to have the decency to come and tell me that you don't have feeling me; I'm here to save our friendship." I said.

"That's it? Just our friendship?" Gale asked bitterly.

"I knew that you wanted to date me before I went into the arena." I said.

"Then why didn't you tell me then?" Gale said.

"I don't have a sufficient answer for that question, and I won't lie to you." I said.

"Scared?" He asked.

"No." I said.

"Then why tell me all of this then?" Gale asked.

"Because I don't want to cause you anymore pain." I said.

"Well it looks like it's too late for that now." Gale said. "Was it forced, or did you go willingly?"

"Yes. I gave into the feelings that I had for Peeta." I said. "None of the things that I said, or the actions I did were for show."

Gale falls silent for a moment. It was a long period before I found my voice.

"Shall we hunt, while you sort out your thoughts, and gain your courage?" I ask.

Gale doesn't say anything, he just nods his head. We hunt for a while, but the cold has driven all the game from the area. But we were able to pick up a few creatures from the snares. After freezing for hour and a half we decided to call it, and head back in. By the time we reach the Hob it had warmed up considerably. We trade the game we caught, and headed back to my old house. After we sort out our shares we step back out into the cold. I stop before I get two feet from the door because Gale is just standing there, motionlessly. After a few minutes, Gale turns back around and dives in for a kiss.

 _I was not expecting this._ I think.

And now I know. I know that I feel nothing for Gale; just as I thought. Not that I wanted to kiss Gale because for some strange reason I get this feeling that I'm being watched. As we break the kiss I'm staring into Gale's eye, and where I once saw anger and hurt now I see nothing. As if this was his last chance to kiss me, or live the rest of his life regretting that he didn't do it.

"I had to do that. At least once." Gale said.

"I know." I said.

After Gale leaves I shed a few tears because I know now that I have lost Gale, even if for a moment, but I set out to do what I had to do.

I come back to my senses, and the first thing I feel is the bitter cold. I clasp the flask between my hands even though the warmth from the tea has long since been leeched out into the frozen air. My muscles are clenched tight against the cold. If a pack of wild dogs were to appear at this moment, the odds of scaling a tree before they attack are not in my favor. I should get up, move around, and work the stiffness from my limbs. But instead I sit, as motionless as the rocks beneath me, while the dawn begins to lighten the woods. I can't fight the sun. I can only watch helplessly as it drags me into the day that I have been dreading for months

By noon they will be at my new home in the Victor's Village. The reporters, the camera crews, even Effie Trinket, my old escort, will have made their way to District 12 from the Capitol. I wonder if Effie will be wearing that silly pink wig, or will she be sporting some other unnatural color especially for the Victor's Tour. There will be others waiting, too. A staff to cater my every need on the long trip. A prep team to beautify me for public appearances. My stylist and friend, Cinna, who designed the gorgeous outfits that first made the audience take notice of me in the Hunger Games.

If it were up to me, I would try to forget the Hunger Games, entirely. Never speak of them. Pretend they were nothing but a bad dream. But the Victory Tour makes that impossible. Strategically placed almost midway between the annual Games, it's the Capitol's way of keep the horror fresh and immediate. Not only are we in the districts forced to remember the iron grip of the Capitol's power every year, we are forced to celebrate it. And this year, I am one of the stars of the show. I will have to travel from district to district, to stand before cheering crowds that secretly loathe me, to look down into the faces of the families of the children I have killed…

The sun persists in rising, so I make myself stand. All my joints complain and my left leg had been asleep for so long that it takes a several minutes of pacing to bring the feeling back into it. I've been in the woods for three hours, but I've made no real attempt at hunting, I have nothing to show for it. It doesn't matter for my mom and little sister, Prim, anymore. They can afford butcher's meat in town, although none of us like it any better than fresh game. But my best friend Gale and his family are depending on today's haul and I can't let them down. It took Gale about a month before he would start taking to me again, two months before he would go hunting with me too. I start the half an hour trek it will take to cover our snare line. Back when we were in school, we had time in the afternoons to check the lines, hunt, gather, and still get back to trade in town. But now that Gale has gone to work in the mines – I have nothing to do – I have taken over the job.

By this time Gale will have clocked in at the mines, and taken the stomach-churning elevator ride into the depths of the earth and be pounding away down there at the coal seam. I know what it's like down there. Every in year in school, as a part of our training, my class had to tour the mines. When I was little, it was just unpleasant. The claustrophobic tunnels, foul air, suffocating darkness on all sides. But after my dad and several other miners were killed in an explosion, I could barely force myself onto the elevator. The annual trip became an enormous source of anxiety. Twice I made myself so sick in anticipation of it that my mom kept me home because she thought I contracted the flu.

I think of Gale, who is only really alive in the woods, with its fresh air and sunlight and clean, flowing water. I don't know how he stands it. Well… yes, I do. He stands it because it's the way to feed his mother and two younger brothers and sister. And here I am with buckets of money, far more than enough to feed both of our families, and he won't take a single coin. It's even hard for him to let me bring in meat, although he'd surely kept my mom and Prim supplied if I had been killed in the Games. I tell him he's doing me a favor, that it drives me nuts to sitting around all day. Even so, I never drop the meat off when he's at home. Which is easy since he works twelve hour a days.

The only time I get to see Gale now is on Sundays, when we meet up in the woods to hunt together. It's still the best day, but it's not like it used to be before, when we used to tell each other anything. The Games have spoiled even that.

 _Then again, if I hadn't volunteered I wouldn't have gotten to known Peeta._ I think.

A part of me is hoping that Gale would accept my relationship with Peeta, and that we can still be friends like before the Games, but a part of me knows it's futile. There's no going back.

I get a good haul from the traps – eight rabbits, two squirrels, and a beaver that swam into a wire contraption Gale designed himself. He's something of a wizard with snares. As I go along, carefully resetting each snare, I can never replicate his eye for balance, his instinct. It's a gift. Like the way I can shoot at an animal in almost complete darkness and still take it down with one arrow.

By the time I make it back to the fence that surrounds District 12, the sun is well up. As always, I listen a moment, but there's no telltale hum of electrical current running through the chain link. There hardly ever is, even though the thing is supposed to be charged full-time. I wriggle through the opening at the bottom of the fence, and come up in the Meadow, just a stone's throw from my home. My old home. We still get to keep it since officially it's the designated dwelling of my mom and sister. If I should drop dead right now, they would have to return to it. But at present, they are happily installed in the new house in the Victor's Village, and I'm the only one who uses the squat little place where I was raised. To me, it's my real home.

I go there now to switch clothes. Exchange my dad's old leather jacket for a fine wool coat that always seems too tight in the shoulders. Leave my soft, worn hunting boots for a pair of machine-made shoes that my mom thinks that appropriate for someone of my status.

 _I may be accepted by the people of the Capitol, but I will never identify myself as a citizen of the Capitol._ I think.

I've already stowed my bow and arrows in a hollow log in the woods. Although time I ticking away, I allow myself a few minutes in the kitchen. It has an abandon quality with no fire on the hearth, no cloth on the table. I mourn my old life here. We barely scraped by, but I knew where I fit in. I knew what my place was in the tightly interwoven fabric that was our life. I wish I could go back to it now, because in retrospect, it seems so secure compared to with now, when I'm rich and so famous and so hated by the authorities in the Capitol.

A wailing at the back door demands my attention. I open it to find Buttercup, Prim's scruffy old tomcat. He dislikes the new house as much as I do, and always leaves it when my sister's at school. We've never been particularly fond of each other, but we have this new bond. I let him in, feed him a chunk of beaver fat, and even rub him between the ears for a bit.

"You're hideous, you know that, right?" I ask him.

Buttercup nudges my hand for more petting, but we have to go.

"Come on you." I say.

I scoop him up with one hand, grab my game bag with the other, and haul both of them out onto the street. The cat springs free and disappears under a bush.

The shoes pinch my toes as I crunch along the cinder streets. Cutting down alleys and through backyards gets me to Gale's house in minutes. His mother, Hazelle, sees me through the window, where she's bent over the kitchen sink. She dries her hands on her apron and disappears to meet me at the door.

I like Hazelle. Respect her. The explosion that killed my dad took out her husband as well, leaving her with three boys and a baby due any day. Less than a week after she had gave birth, she was out hunting the streets for work. The mines weren't an option, what with a baby to look after, but she managed to get laundry from some of the merchants in town. At fourteen, Gale, the eldest of the kids, became the main supporter of the family. He was already signed up for tessera. On top of that, even back then, he was a skilled trapper. But it wasn't enough to keep a family of five without Hazelle working her fingers to the bone on that washboard. In winter, her hands got so red and cracked, they bled at the slightest provocation. Still would have if it wasn't for a salve that mom had concocted. But they were determined, Hazelle and Gale, that the other boys, twelve-year-old Rory and ten-year-old Vick, and the baby, four-year-old Posey, will never have to sign up for tessera.

Hazelle smiles when she sees the game. She's takes the beaver by the tail, feeling its weight.

"He's going to make a nice stew." Hazelle said.

Unlike Gale, she has no problem with our hunting arrangement.

"Good pelt, too." I said.

Weighing the merits of the game, just as she has always have. She pours me a mug of tea, which I wrap my chilled fingers around gratefully.

"You know, when I get back the tour. I was thinking I might take Rory out with me sometime. After school. Teach him how to shoot." I say.

"That'd be good. Gale means to, but he's only got Sundays, and I think he likes saving those with you." Hazelle says, nodding.

I nod back. The only person that understands the bond I share with Gale is Hazelle. I'm sure plenty of people assumed that we'd eventually get married even if I never gave it any thought. But that was before the Games. Before my fellow tribute, Peeta Mellark, announced he was madly in love with me. Our romance be the key to our strategy for our in the arena. Only it wasn't just a strategy to Peeta. Or me.

 _Funny. Peeta never asked for time to sort out his feelings. Then again he told me to come to him when I got my feelings straight. My love never changed for Peeta, but I was frightened to go to Peeta. I saw the pain in his eyes after we left the Capitol, I couldn't bear to see that look in his eyes again._ I think.

My chest tightens as I think how we will have to present ourselves as lovers again on the Victory Tour. I can't tell if that tightness is one of longing, or fear. I gulp my tea, even though it's too hot and push back from the table.

"I better get going. Make myself presentable for the camera." I say, grudgingly.

"Enjoy the food." Hazelle says, hugging me.

"Absolutely." I say, chuckling.

My next stop is the Hob, where I've traditionally done the bulk of my trading. Years ago it was a warehouse to store coal, but when it fell into disuse, it became a meeting place for illegal trades and then blossomed into a full-time black market. If it attracts a somewhat criminal element, then I belong here, I guess. Hunting in the woods surrounding District 12 violates a dozen laws and is punishable by death.

Although they never mention it, I owe people that frequent the Hob. Gale told me that Greasy Sae, the old woman who serves up soup, started a collection during the Games to sponsor Peeta and me during the Games. It was supposed to be just a Hob thing, but a lot of other people heard about it and chipped in. I don't know exactly how much it was, and the price of any gift in the arena is exorbitant. But for all I know, it made the difference between my life and death.

It's still odd to drag open the front door with an empty game bag, with nothing to trade, and instead feel the heavy pocket of coins against my hip. I try to hit as many stalls as possible, spread out my purchases of coffee, buns, eggs, yarn, and oil. As an afterthought I by three bottles of white liquor from a one-armed woman name Ripper, a victim of a mining accident who was smart enough to stay alive.

The liquor isn't for my family. It's for Haymitch, who acted as mentor for Peeta and me in the Games. He's surly, violent, and drunk most of the time. But he did his job – more than his job – because for the first time in history, two tributes were allowed to win. So no matter who Haymitch is, I owe him, too. And that's for always. I'm getting the white liquor because a few weeks ago he ran out and there was none for sale and he had a withdrawal, shaking and screaming at terrifying things that only he could see. He scared Prim to death, and frankly, it wasn't much fun to see him like that, either. Ever since then I've been sort of stockpiling the stuff just in case there's ever a shortage again.

Cray, our Head Peacekeeper, frowns when he sees me with the bottles. He's an older man with a few strands of silver hair combed sideways above a bright red face.

"That's stuffs too strong for you, girl." Cray says.

 _He should know. Next to Haymitch, Cray drinks more than anyone I've ever met._ I thought.

"Aw, my mom use it in medicines." I say indifferently.

"Well, it kill just about anything." he says, and slaps down a coin for a bottle.

When I reach Greasy Sae's stall, I boost myself up on to sit on the counter, and order some soup, which looks like some kind of gourd and bean mixture. A Peacekeeper named Darius comes up and buys a bowl while I'm eating. As law enforcers go, he's my favorite. Never really throwing his weight around, usually good for a joke. He's probably in twenties, but doesn't seem much older than I do. Something about his smile, is red hair that sticks out every which way, gives him a boyish quality.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a train?" He asks me?

"They're collecting me at noon." I say

"Shouldn't you look better?" He asks in a loud whisper.

I can't help smiling at his teasing, in spite of my mood.

"Maybe a ribbon your hair or something?" He flicks my braid with his hand and I brush him away.

"Don't worry. By the time they get through with me I'll be unrecognizable." I said

"Good." he says. "Let's show a little district pride for a change, Miss Everdeen. Hm?"

He shakes his head at Greasy Sae in mock disapproval and walks off to join his friends.

"I'll want that bowl back." Greasy Sae calls after him, but since she's laughing, she doesn't sound to particularly stern.

"Gale going to see you off?" she asks me.

"No, he wasn't on the list. I saw him Sunday though." I said.

"Think he he'd have made the list. Him being your cousin and all." She says wryly.

It's just one more part of the lie that the Capitol had concocted. When Peeta and I made it into the final eight in the Hunger Games, they sent reports to do personal stories on us. When they asked about my friends, everyone directed them to Gale. But it wouldn't do, what with the romance that was blossoming in the arena, to have my best friend be Gale. He was too handsome, too male, not the least bit willing to smile and play nice for the cameras. We do resemble each other, though, quite a bit. We have that Seam look. Dark straight hair, olive skin, gray eyes. So some genius made him my cousin. I didn't know it until we were already home, on the platform at the train station, and my mother said.

"Your cousins can hardly wait to see you!"

Then I turned and saw Gale, Hazelle and all the kids waiting for me, so what could I do but go along? Greasy Sae knows we're not related, but even some of the people who have known us for years have seem to have forgotten.

"I just can't wait for this whole thing to be over with." I whisper.

"I know. But you've got to go through it to get to the end of it. Better not be late. Greasy Sae says.

A light snow begins to fall as I make my way to Victor's Village. It's about a half-mile walk from the square in the center of town, but it seems like another world entirely. It's a separate community built around a beautiful green, dotted with flowering bushes. There are twelve houses, each large enough to hold ten of the one I was raised in. Nine stand empty, just as they always have. Three in use belong to Haymitch, Peeta, and me.

Those inhabited by my family and Peeta give off the warm glow of life. Lit windows, smoke from the chimney, bunches of brightly colored corn affixed to the front doors as decoration for the upcoming Harvest Festival. However, Haymitch's house, despite the care taken by the groundskeeper, exudes an air of abandonment and neglect. I brace myself at the front door, knowing it will be foul, and then push inside.

My nose immediately wrinkles in disgust. Haymitch refuses to let anybody clean, and does a poor job himself. Over the years the odors of liquor and vomit, boiled cabbage and burned meat, unwashed clothes and mouse droppings have intermingled into a stench that brings tear to my eyes. I wade through the litter a discarded wrappings, broken glass, and bones to where I know I will find Haymitch. He sits at the kitchen table. He sits at the table, his arms sprawled across the wood, his face in a puddle of liquor, snoring his head off. I nudge his shoulder.

"Get up!" I say loudly, because I learn there is no subtle way to wake him.

His snoring stops for a moment, questioningly, and then resumes. I push him harder.

"Get up, Haymitch. It's tour day." I said again.

I force the window up, inhaling deep breaths of clean air outside. My feet sift through garbage on the floor, and I unearth a tin coffee pot and fill it at the sink. The stove isn't completely out and I manage to coax a few coals into a flame. I pour some grounds into the pot, enough to make sure the resulting brew will be good and strong, and set it to boil on the stove. Haymitch is still dead to the world. Since nothing else has worked, I fill a basin of icy cold water, dump it on his head, and spring out of the way. He jumps up, kicking his chair back ten feet and wielding a knife. I forgot he always sleeps with one clutched in his hands. I should have pried it from his fingers, but I've had a lot on my mind. Spewing profanity, he slashes the air a few moments before coming to his senses. He wipes his face on his shirtsleeve and turns to the windowsill where I perch, just in case I need to make a quick exit

"What are you doing?" He sputters.

"You told me to wake you an hour before the cameras come." I say.

"What?" he says.

"Your idea." I insist.

He seems to remember. "Why am I all wet?"

"I couldn't shake you awake." I say.

Haymitch starts glaring at me.

"If you wanted to be woken up in a civilized manner, you should have asked Peeta." I say sternly.

"Ask me what?" Peeta asks.

Just the sound of his voice twists my stomach into a knot of unpleasant emotions of guilt, sadness, and fear. And love. I've missed my boyfriend these past six months. I start to tear up at the sight of seeing Peeta, and I clear my throat to keep my tears at bay.

 _Ahem._

I watch as Peeta crosses over to the table, the sunlight from the window picking up the glint from the freshly fallen snow in his blond hair. He looks so strong and healthy, so different from the sick, starving boy I knew I knew in the arena, and you can barely notice his limp. He sets a loaf of freshly baked bread on the table and holds out his hand to Haymitch.

 _Ahem._

Both Haymitch and Peeta ignore me clearing my throat, and I'm thankful.

"Asked you to wake me without giving me pneumonia." says Haymitch, passing over his knife. He pulls off his filthy shirt, revealing a filthy under shirt, and rubs himself down with the dry part.

"You are a strangely dislikable person." Haymitch says to me. I get off the windowsill, and set two bottles of white liquor on the table in front of him.

"But you do have your virtues." Haymitch continues.

I hear Peeta cutting the heel of the bread off and hands is it to Haymitch. And then looking at me for the first time. "Would you like a piece?"

I was going to respond about how I ate at the Hob, but one glance at the bread and I changed my mind.

"Is that goat cheese and apple tart that you mention before?" I asked.

Peeta hesitates, but nods his head.

"I'll have a bite." I say, happy that I can get my emotions under control. I see a ghost of a smile on Peeta's face as he cuts piece for me. I take one look at the size, and I can see that it's a big piece. I can feel the tears start to form again in my eyes.

 _Ahem._

"Thank you." I say, taking a bite.

"Your welcome." Peeta says.

Haymitch was about to take a drink, but stops himself. He looks over the bottle at the two of us.

"Brrr. You two have a lot of warming to do before showtime." Haymitch says.

Whatever I felt at that time for Peeta had just disappeared. I roll my eyes at Haymitch, and I can see Peeta crack a smile.

"Which is in an hour, so take a bath Haymitch." I say, and then swing my legs out the window and start walking back to my house.

"I already did." Haymitch shouted after me.

" _Take a real bath!_ " I shout back.

"She's not lying. Whoo!" Peeta says.

"Did you ever make up with Katniss?" Haymitch asks.

"No, I didn't." Peeta says.

"I don't care what happened six months ago, you need to reach out to her." Haymitch said.

"Okay." Peeta said.

Peeta and Haymitch ate the rest of the loaf in silence. As I stepped into my front door I was knocking the wet stuff from my shoes before I go in. My mom's been working day and night to make everything perfect for the cameras. I've barely stepped inside when she's there, holding my arm as if to stop me.

'Don't worry, I'm taking them off here." I say, leaving my shoes on the mat.

My mom gives an odd, breathy laugh and removes the game bag filled with supplies from my shoulder. "It's just snow. Did you have a nice walk?"

"Walk?" I ask.

She knows that I've been in the woods half the night. Then I see a man standing behind her in the doorway to the kitchen. One look at his tailored suit and surgically perfect features and I know he's from the Capitol. Something is wrong.

"It was more like skating. It's getting slippery out there." I said.

"Someone's here to see you." my mom says. Her face is too pale and I can hear the anxiety she's trying to hide.

"I thought they weren't due until noon. Did Cinna come early to help me get ready?" I ask pretending not to notice her state.

"No Katniss, it's –" my mom begins.

"This way, please, Miss Everdeen." says the man.

He gestures down the hallway. It's weird to be ushered around my own home, but I know better than to comment on it. As I go, I give a reassuring smile over my shoulder.

"Probably more instructions for the tour." I said.

They've been sending me all kinds of stuff about my itinerary and what protocol will be observed in each district. But as I walk towards the door of the study, a door I've never seen shut until this moment, I can feel my mind begin to race.

 _Who is here? What do they want? And why is my mom so pale?_

"Go right in." says the man from the Capitol, who had followed me down the hall.

I twist the polish brass knob and step inside. My nose registers the conflicting scents of roses and blood. A small white hair man who seems vaguely familiar is reading a book. He holds up a finger as if to say, "Give me a moment."

Then he turns and my heart skips a beat. I'm staring into the snakelike eyes of President Snow.


	29. Chapter 29

In my mind, President Snow should be viewed in front of marble pillars hung with oversized flags. It's jarring to see him surrounded by ordinary objects in the room. Like taking the lid off a pot and finding a fanged viper instead of stew.

What could he be doing here? My mind rushes back to the opening days of the Victor's Tour. I remember seeing the winning tributes with their mentors and stylist. Even some high government officials have made appearances occasionally. But I have never seen President Snow. He attends the celebrations in the Capitol. Period.

If he's made the journey all the way from his city, it can mean only one thing. I'm in serious trouble. And if I am, so is my family. A shiver goes through me when I think of the proximity of my mother and sister is to this man who despises me. Will always despise me. Because I outsmarted his sadistic Hunger Games, made the Capitol look foolish, and consequently undermined his control.

All I was trying to do was keep Peeta and myself alive. Any act rebellion was purely coincidental. But when the Capitol decrees that there can be only one tribute and you have the audacity to challenge it, I guess that's a rebellion it itself. My only defense was the passionate love that I have for Peeta.

 _But I have a feeling that it's going to take more than that this time. Like an act of God._ I think.

So we were both allowed to live. To be crowned victor. To go home and wave good-bye to the cameras and be left alone. Until now.

 _He could have killed me at any time in the last six months, but didn't. That's because he would have had riots in the districts. He's not going to kill me now. So let's just play along and see what he really has over me._ I think.

I stand motionless, my eyes locked on him, waiting for him to make the first move.

 _Moves. Countermoves._ I think.

"I think we'll make this situation a whole lot simpler by agreeing not to lie to each other." he said. "What do you think?"

I take a moment to judge my options, but I follow his lead in the end. "Yes, I think that would save time."

President Snow smiles and I notice his lips for the first time. I'm expecting snake lips, which is to say none. But his are overly full, the skin stretched too tight. I have to wonder if his mouth has been altered to make him more appealing.

 _Which he isn't._ I think.

If so, it was a waste of time and money, because he's not appealing at all.

"My advisors are concerned you would be difficult, but you're not planning on being difficult, are you?" he asks.

"No." I told him.

"That's what I told them. I said any girl who goes to such lengths to preserve her life isn't going to be interested in throwing it away with both hands. And then there's her family to think of. Her mother. Her sister. And all those… cousins." By the way he lingered on the word "cousins," I can tell that he knows that Gale and I don't share a family tree.

Well it's all on the table now. I don't do well with ambiguous threats. I'd much rather know the score.

"Let's sit." President Snow takes a seat at the large desk of polished wood where Prim does her homework and my mom does her budgets. Like our home, he has no right to sit there, but ultimately ever right, to occupy. I sit in front of the desk on one carved, straight back chairs. It's made for someone taller than I am, so only my toes rest on the ground.

"I have a problem Miss Everdeen." President Snow said. "A problem that began the moment that you pulled out those poison berries."

That was the moment when I guessed that if the Gamemakers had to choose between watching Peeta and me commit suicide – which would mean having no victor – and letting us both live, they would take the latter.

"If Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, had had any brains, he'd had blown you to dust right then. But he had an unfortunate sentimental streak. So here you are. Can you guess where he is?" President Snow asked.

"I can… make an educate guess." I said nonchalantly.

By the casualness of his tone it's clear that Seneca Crane has been executed. The smell of blood and roses has grown stronger now that only a desk separate us. There's a rose in President Snow's lapel, which at least suggests a source of the flower perfume, but it must be genetically enhanced, because no real rose reeks like that. As for the blood… I don't know.

 _Creepy!_ I think.

"After that, there was nothing to but let you play out your little scenario. And you were pretty good, too, with the love-crazed school girl bit. The people in the Capitol were quite convinced. Unfortunately, not everyone in the districts fell for your act," he says.

"I'm sorry." I say dumbfounded.

"This, or course, you don't know. You have no access to information about the mood of the other districts. In several of them, however, people viewed your little trick with the berries as an act of defiance, not an act of love. And if a girl form District Twelve of all places can defy the Capitol and walk away unharmed, what's to stop them from doing the same thing?" he says. "What's to prevent, say, an uprising?"

It takes a moment for that last sentence to sink in. Then the full weight of it hits me.

"There have been uprisings?" I ask indifferently, but secretly excited by the possibility.

"Not yet. But they will follow if things don't change. And uprisings have been known to lead to revolutions." President Snow rubs a spot over his eft eyebrow, the very spot where I get headaches myself. "Do you have any idea what that means? How many people will? What the conditions those left would have to face? Whatever problems anyone may have with the Capitol, believe when I say that if it released its grip on the districts even for a short time, the entire system would collapse."

 _But would it?_ I think.

President Snow is trying to appeal to the school girl in me, the side that pretended to be unaware of her actions, but he doesn't realize that I'm already looking for an escape for Gale. I look at President Snow, and say point blank.

"It must be very fragile, if a handful of berries can bring it down."

 _How is it that if the Capitol loses control, society will collapse?_ I think.

There's a long pause while he examines me. Then he simply says, "It's fragile, but not in the way you suppose."

 _Try me._ I think.

There's a knock at the door, and the Capitol man sticks his head in. "Her mother wants to know if you want tea."

"I would. I would like tea," says President Snow.

The door opens wider, and there stands my mom, holding a tray with the china tea set she brought to the Seam when she married.

"Set it here please." He places the book on the corner of the desk and pats the center.

My mom sets the tray on the desk, it holds a china teapot and cups, cream and sugar, and a plate of cookies. They are beautifully iced with softly colored flowers. The frosting work can only be Peeta's.

"What a welcome sight. You know, it's funny how often people forget that presidents have to eat, too." President Snow says charmingly.

 _Bull!_ I think.

Well, it seems to relax my mom a bit, anyway.

"Can I get you anything else? I can cook something more substantial if you hunger." She offers.

"No, this could not be more perfect. Thank you," he says, clearly dismissing her.

My mom nods, shoots me a glance, and goes. President Snow pours tea for both of us and fills his with cream and sugar, then takes a long time stirring. I sense that he has had his say and is waiting for me to respond.

"I didn't mean to start any uprisings." I tell him.

"I believe you. It doesn't matter. Your stylist turned out to be prophetic in your wardrobe choice. Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, you have provide a spark that, left unattended, may grow to an inferno that destroys Panem," he says.

 _He can't have me killed outright because that will just spark the districts to rebel, can't arrange an accident because nobody would believe it. I know I wouldn't._ I think.

"What should I do to correct my mistake?" I ask.

"If only it were that simple." He picks up one of the flowered cookies and examines it. "Lovely. Your mother made these?"

"Peeta." I said

To avoid letting on to the fact that I'm nothing short of disgusted by the man in front me, I reach forward and grab a cookie, and eat it. Then I grab a cup of tea, and take a sip.

"Peeta. How _is_ the love of your life?" He asks

 _I thought this was about my actions in the Games. Why does he want to know about Peeta?_ I think.

"Good." I say not wanting to give him anything to use against me.

"At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" he asks, dipping his cookie in his tea.

"I'm not indifferent." I say trying to keep my anger at bay.

 _If it wasn't the rule change I wouldn't be in this position._ I thought.

"But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe," he says.

"You think otherwise?" I ask."

"I do," says the president. "And I wouldn't be if I were the only person who had doubts. How's that handsome cousin of yours?"

"He's good… I don't know." I say.

 _I have a feeling that something bad is about to happen._ I think.

"Speak Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution," he says. "You aren't him any favors by disappearing into the woods with him every Sunday."

If he knows this, what else does he know? And how does he know it? Many people could have told him that Gale and I spend our Sundays hunting. Don't we show up at the end of each on loaded down with game? Haven't we for years? The real question is what does he think goes on in the woods beyond District 12. They haven't been tracking us in there, or I would be in much more trouble. Gale knows that I'm in love Peeta, so we never discuss anything meaningful between us. Nothing that would lead him into thinking that there was a relationship between the two of us. If he knew what was really going on in those woods, the treasonous conversations that we had, Gale and I would be in chains and awaiting our executions.

Could he know about Gale kissing me? It was in the district. Anybody could have easily seen it. All I know is that after Gale kiss me there was no going back to what we had before the Games. When he kissed me it was as if he shatter some invisible barrier between us, and with it, any hope I had with resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship.

This all flashes through my head in an instant as President Snow's eyes bore into me on the heels of his threat to kill Gale. I take a few deep breaths to calm the anger that was beginning to rise in me. How could I have been so stupid to think that the Capitol would ignore me once I returned home! Maybe I didn't know about the potential uprisings. But I knew they were angry with me. Instead of acting with extreme caution that the situation called for, what have I done? From the presidents point of view I've ignore Peeta and flaunted my preference for Gale before the whole district. And by doing so made it clear that I was, in fact, mocking the Capitol. Now I've endangered Gale and his family and my family and Peeta, too, because my carelessness. I take a few more deep breaths to compose myself before speaking.

"Please don't hurt Gale," I whisper. "He's just my friend. We've been friends for years. Besides, everybody thinks we're cousins now."

"I'm only interested in how it will affect your dynamic with Peeta, thereby affecting the mood in the districts," he says

 _There he goes again with Peeta! What does Peeta have to do with this?_ I think.

"It will be the same on the tour. I'll be in love with him just as I was," I says.

"Just as you are," corrects President Snow.

"Just as I am." I confirm.

"Only you'll have to do better if the uprisings are to be averted," he says. "This tour will be your only chance to turn things around."

I glance at him momentarily before continuing. "I know. I will. I'll convince everyone in the districts that I wasn't defying the Capitol, that I was crazy in love." I say.

 _Fat chance._ I think.

President Snow rises and dabs his puffy lips with a napkin. "Aim higher in case you fall short."

"Meaning?" I ask knowing that he had something else in mind.

"Convince _me_ ," he says. He drops the napkin and retrieves his book. I don't watch him as he heads for the door, so I flinch when he whispers in my ear. "By the way, I know about the kiss." Then the door clicks shut behind him.


	30. Chapter 30

The smell of blood… it was on his breath.

 _What does he do?_ I think. _Drink it?_ I imagine him sipping it from his teacup. Dipping his cookie into the stuff and pulling it out dripping red.

Outside, a car comes to life, soft and quiet like the purr of a cat, then fades away into the distance. It slips off as it arrived, unnoticed.

The room begins to spin in slow, lopsided circles, and I wonder if I might black out. I lean forward I set the teacup on the desk and clutch the desk with both hands. I notice the plate of cookies that Peeta had frosted. The flower looks like a tiger lily, but I can't be sure. Holding onto the desk as my world is spinning out of control is making it hard for me to concentrate.

A visit from President Snow. Districts on the verge of uprisings. A direct death against Gale, with others to follow. Everyone I love doomed. And who knows who else will pay for my actions? Unless I turn things around on this tour. Quiet the discontent and put the president's mind at ease. And how? By proving to the country beyond a shadow of a doubt that I love Peeta.

 _But why? If the districts are ready to revolt why would my relationship with Peeta matter? Something about using Peeta again makes me wary._ I think.

I keep coming back to how President Snow kept saying that I have to prove to him about my feelings for Peeta, which strikes me as odd. Something deep in my heart is telling me not to go through with it. I'll just have to distance myself from Gale when I return, and spend more time with Peeta.

I hear my mom's light, quick tread in the hallway, and I'm brought back to the reality of the situation.

 _She can't know. Not about this._ I think.

I grab the cup and finish my tea, and then set the cup on the tray. I turn back to the door as my mom is opening it.

"It everything all right, Katniss?" she asks.

"It's fine. We never see it on television, but the president always visits the victor before the tour to wish them luck." I say brightly.

My mom's face floods with relief. "Oh. I thought there was some kind of trouble."

"Not yet." I say. "The trouble will begin when my prep team see that I let my eyebrows back in.

My mother laughs, and I think about how there is no going back after I took care of the family when I was eleven. How I will always have to protect her.

"Why don't I strat your bath?" She asks.

"Great." I say, and I can see how pleased she is by my response.

 _I can tell she's glad to have both of her daughters back._ I think.

Since I've been home I've mended my relationship with my mom. Asking for her help, instead of brushing aside any offer for help, as I did for years out of anger. Letting her handle all the money I won. Returning hugs instead of tolerating them. My time in the arena has taught me that I need to stop punishing her for something she couldn't help, specifically the crushing depression she fell into after my dad's death. Because sometimes things happen people and they're not equipped to deal with them.

Like me, for instance. Right now.

There is was one silver lining when I arrived back in the district. After our families and friend had greeted Peeta and me at the station, there were a few questions allowed from reporters. Someone asked my mom what she thought of my new boyfriend, and she replied that, while Peeta was the very model of what a young man should be, I wasn't old enough to have any boyfriend at all. She followed this with a pointed look at Peeta. There was a lot of laughter and comments like "Somebody's in trouble" from the press, and Peeta dropped my hand and sidestepped away from me. That didn't last long – there was too much pressure to act otherwise – but it gave us an excuse to be a little more reserved than we'd been in the Capitol. And maybe it might help account for how little I've been seen in Peeta's company since the cameras left.

 _If it was only that simple._ I thought.

I go upstairs to the bathroom, where a steaming tub awaits. My mom has added a small bag a dried flowers that perfumes the air. None of us are used to the luxury of turning on the tap and having a limitless supply of hot water at our finger tips. We only had cold water at our home in the Seam, and a bath meant boiling the rest over the fire. I undress and lower myself into the silky water – my mom has poured some kind of oil as well – and try to get a grip on things.

The first question is who to tell, if anyone. Not my mom or Prim, obviously; they'd only become sick with worry. Not Gale. Even if I could get word to him. What would he do with the information, anyway? If he were alone, I'd tell him to leave. Certainly he could survive in the woods. But he's not alone, and he would never leave his family. When I get home I'm going to have to tell him that our Sundays are a thing of the past, but I can't think about that right now. Only my next move. Besides, Gale's so angry and frustrated with the Capitol that sometimes I think he's going to arrange his own uprising. The last thing he needs is an incentive. How do I get Gale to leave, while I remain behind to protect the district?

There are still three people I might confide in, starting with Cinna, my stylist. But my guess is that Cinna might already be at risk, and I don't want to pull him into any more trouble by closer association with me. Then there's my partner, my boyfriend, and my lover Peeta. That's a conversation that I don't want to have with him. I've cause him enough grief, already. Not only that, Peeta will perform even if he doesn't what's at stake. That leaves Haymitch. Drunken, cranky, confrontational Haymitch, who I just pour a basin of water on. As my mentor in the Games it was his duty to keep me alive. I hope he's still up for the job.

I slide down into the water, letting it block out the sounds around me. I wish the tube would expand so I could go swimming, like I used to on hot summer Sundays in the woods with my dad. Those days were a special treat. We would leave early in the morning and hike further into the woods than usual to a small lake he found while hunting. I don't even remember learning to swim, I was so young when he taught me. I just remember diving, turning somersaults, and paddling around. The muddy bottom of the lake beneath my toes. The smell of blossoms and greenery. Floating on my back, as I am now, staring at the blue sky while the chatter of the woods was muted by the water. He'd bag the waterfowl that nest around the shore, I'd hunt for eggs in the grass, and we both dig for katniss roots in the shallows. At night, when we got home, my mom would pretend not to recognize me because I was so clean. Then she would cook up an amazing dinner of roast duck and baked katniss tubers with gravy.

I never took Gale to the lake. I could have. It's time consuming to get there, but there waterfowl are easy pickings you can make up for lost hunting time. It's a place that I've never really wanted to share with anyone, though, a place that belonged to only my dad and me. Since the Games, when I've had little to occupy my days, I've gone there a couple of times. The swimming was still nice, but mostly the visits depressed me. Over the course of the last five years, the lake's remarkably unchanged and I'm almost unrecognizable.

Even under the water I can hear the sounds of commotion. Honking of car horns, shouts of greeting, doors banging shut. It can only mean that my entourage has arrived. I have just enough time to towel off and slip into a robe before my prep team burst into the bathroom. There's no question of privacy. When it comes to my body, we have no secrets, these three people and me.

"Katniss, your eyebrows!" Venia shrieks right off, and even with black clouds hanging over me, I have to stifle a laugh. Her aqua hair has been style so it sticks out in sharp points all over her head, and the gold tattoos that used to be confined above her brows have curled around under her eyes, contributing to the impression that I've literally shocked her.

Octavia comes up and pats Venia's back soothingly, her curvy body looking plumper than usual next Venia's thin, angular one. "There, there. You can fix those in no time. But what I am going to do about those nails?" She grabs my hand and pins it flat between her two pea green ones. No, her skin isn't exactly pea green now. It's more of a light evergreen. The shift in shade is no doubt an attempt to stay abreast of the capricious fashions trends of the Capitol. "Really Katniss you could have left me something to work with!" she wails.

It's true. I've bitten my nails to stubs in the past couple of months. I thought about trying to break the habit but couldn't think of a good reason I should. "Sorry." I mutter. I hadn't been spend much time worrying about how I would affect my prep team.

 _I bet Peeta's prep team isn't this fussy._ I thought.

Flavius lifts a few strands of wet, tangled hair. He gives his head a disapproving shake, causing his orange corkscrew curls to bounce around. "Has anyone touched this since we last saw us?" he asks sternly. "Remember, we specifically asked you to leave your hair alone."

"Yes!" I say, grateful that I can show I haven't totally taken them for granted. "I mean, no, no one's cut. I did remember that." No, I didn't. It's more like the issue never came up. Since I've been home, all I've done is stick in its usual braid down my back.

This seems to mollify them, and they all kiss me, set me on a chair in my bedroom, and, as usual, start talking nonstop without bothering to notice if I'm listening.

 _Ignorance is bliss._ I think.

While Venia reinvents my eyebrows and Octavia gives me fake nails and Flavius rubs goo into my hair, I hear all about the Capitol. What a hit the Games were, how dull things have been since, how no one can wait until Peeta and I visit at the end of the Victor's Tour. After that it won't be long before the Capitol is gearing up for the Quarter Quell.

"Isn't it thrilling?"

 _No._ I think.

"Don't you feel lucky?"

 _HECK NO!_ I think.

"In your very first year as victor, you get to be a mentor in a Quarter Quell!"

 _Yay._ I think.

Their words overlap in a blur of excitement.

"Oh, yes," I say neutrally. It's the best I can do. In a normal year, being mentor to tributes is the stuff of nightmares. I can't walk by school now without wondering what child I'll have to mentor. But to make things worse, this year is the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games, and that means it's also a Quarter Quell. They occur every twenty five years, marking the anniversary of the districts defeat with an over-the-top celebration and, for extra fun, some miserable twist for the tributes. I've never been alive for one, of course. But in school I remember hearing that for the second Quarter Quell demanded twice the number of tributes for the arena. The teachers didn't go into much more detail about it, which is surprising, because that was the year District 12's very own Haymitch Abernathy won the crown.

"Haymitch better be preparing himself for a lot of attention this year!" squeals Octavia.

 _It's a sure bet that all the prepping that Haymitch is going to do is prepare his liver for another assault. Wait he does that every day!_ I thought.

Haymitch has never mention his personal experience in the arena to me. I would never ask. And if I ever saw his Games televised in reruns, I've must have been too young to remember it. But the Capitol won't let him forget it this year. In a way, it's a good thing Peeta and I will both be available as mentors during the Quell, because it's a sure bet that Haymitch will be wasted.

After they exhausted the topic of the Quarter Quell, my prep team launches into a whole of stuff about their incomprehensible lives. Who said what about someone I've never heard of and what sort of shoes they just bought and a long story from Octavia about what a mistake it was to have everyone wear feathers to her birthday party.

Soon my brows are stingy, my hair is smooth and silky, and my nails are ready to be painted. Apparently they've been given instructions to prepare only my hands and face, probably because everything else will be covered in the cold weather. Flavius badly wants to use his own trademark purple lipstick on me, _Thank you Cinna._ I thought, but resigns himself to a pink as they begin to color my face and nails. I can see by the palette Cinna has assigned that we're going for girlish, not sexy. Good. I'll never convince anyone if I'm trying to be provocative. Haymitch made that very clear when he was coaching me for interview for my Games.

My mom comes in, somewhat shyly, and says that Cinna asked to her show the preps how she did my hair the day of the reaping. They respond with enthusiasm and then watch, thoroughly engrossed, as she breaks down the elaborate braided hairdo. In the mirror, I can see their earnest faces following her every move, their eagerness when it's their turn to try a step. In fact, all three are so readily respectful and nice to my mom that I feel bad about how I go around feeling so superior to them. Who knows who I would be or what I would talk about if I'd been raised in the Capitol? Maybe my biggest regret would be feathered costumes at my birthday party, too.

When my hair is done, I find Cinna downstairs in the living room, and just the sight of him makes me feel more hopeful. He looks the same as always, simple clothes, short brown hair, just a hint of gold eyeliner. We embrace, and I can barely keep myself from spilling out the entire episode with President Snow. But no, I've decided to tell Haymitch first. He'll know best who to burden with it. It's so easy to talk to Cinna, though. Lately we've been speaking a lot on the telephone that came with the house. It's sort of a joke, because no one we know owns one. There's Peeta, but obviously I don't call him.

 _And to be honest, I'd rather talk to him in person._ I think.

Haymitch tore his out of the wall years ago. My friend Madge, the mayor's daughter, has a telephone in her house, but if we talk, we do it in person. At first the thing barely ever got used. Then Cinna called to work on my talent.

Every victor is supposed to have one. Your talent is the activity you took up since you don't have to work either in the school or your district's industry. It can be anything, really, anything that they can interview you about. Peeta, it turns out, actually has one, which is painting. He's been frosting those cakes and cookies in his family's bakery for years. But now that he's rich, he can afford to smear real paint on canvases. I don't have a talent unless you count hunting illegally, which they don't. Or maybe singing, which I wouldn't do for the Capitol in a million years. My mom has tried to interest me in suitable alternatives from a list that Effie Trinket sent her. Cooking, flower arranging, playing the flute. None of them took, although Prim had a knack for all three. Finally Cinna stepped in and offered to help me develop my passion for designing clothes, which really required developing because it was nonexistent. But I said yes because it meant talking to Cinna, and he promised that he'd do all the work.

Now he's arranging things around my living room: clothing, fabric, and sketchbooks with designs he's drawn. I pick up one of the sketchbooks and examine a dress that I supposedly created. "You know, I think I show a lot of promise," I say.

"Maybe in about twenty years. While were waiting why don't put some clothes on," he says, tossing a bundle of clothes at me.

I have no interest in designing clothes but I do love the ones that Cinna makes for me. Like these. Flowing black pants made of thick, warm material. A comfortable white shirt. A sweater woven from green and blue and grey strands of kitten-soft wool. Laced leather boots that didn't pinch my toes.

"Did I design my outfit?" I ask.

"No, you aspire to design your outfit and be like me, your fashion hero," says Cinna. He hands me a small stack of cards. "You'll read these off camera while they're filming the clothes. Try to sound like you care."

 _Noted._ I thought, staring blankly at Cinna.

Just then, Effie Trinket arrives in a pumpkin orange wig to remind everyone, "We're on schedule!" She kisses me on both cheeks while waving in the camera crew, and then orders me into position. Effie's the only reason we get anywhere on time in the Capitol, so I try to accommodate her. I start bobbing around like a puppet, holding up outfits and saying meaningless things like "Don't you love it?" The sound team records me reading from the cards in a chirpy voice so they can insert it later, then I'm tossed from the room so they can film my/Cinna's designs in peace.

I'm walking towards the kitchen when my mom stops me.

"Say high to your boyfriend for me," she says.

"Mom." I say blankly.

"You may still be young, but being apart from Peeta isn't helping you mend. Just don't do anything I wouldn't do." She says.

I give my mom a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and continue heading to the kitchen. Prim got out of school early for the event. Now she stands in the kitchen being interviewed by anther crew. She looks lovely in a sky blue frock that brings out her eyes, her blond hair pulled back in a matching ribbon. She's leaning a bit forward on the toes of her shiny white boots like she's about to take flight, like –

Bam! It's like something actually hits my chest. No one has, of course, but the pain is so real I have to take a step back. I squeeze my eyes shut and I don't see Prim – I see Rue, the twelve year-old-girl from District 11 who was my ally in the arena. She could fly, birdlike, from tree to tree, catching on to the slenderest branches. Rue, who I didn't save. Who I let die. I picture her lying on the ground with spear wedge in her stomach…

Who else will I fail to save from Capitol's vengeance? Who else will dead if I don't satisfy President Snow?

 _District 11 didn't condemn me, so why should I?_ I thought.

I realize Cinna's trying to put a coat on me, so I raise my arms. I feel fur, inside and out, encasing me. It's from no animal I've ever seen. "Ermine," he tells me as I stroke the white sleeve. Leather gloves. A bright red scarf. Something furry covers my ears. "You're bringing earmuffs back."

 _I hate earmuffs._ I think.

The make it hard to hear, and since I was blasted deaf in one ear in the arena, I dislike them even more. After I won, the Capitol repaired my ear, but I find myself testing it.

My mother hurries up with something cupped in her hand. "For good luck."

It was the pin that Madge gave me before I left for the Games. A mockingjay flying in a circle of gold. I tried to give it to Rue but she wouldn't take it. She said that the pin was the reason she'd decided to trust me. Cinna fixes it to the knot on my scarf.

Effie Trinket nearby, clapping her hands. "Attention everyone! We're about to do the first outdoor shot, where the victors greet each other at the beginning of their marvelous trip. All right, Katniss, big smile, you're very excited, right?" I don't exaggerate when I say she gives me a shove me out the door.

For a moment I can't quite see right because of the snow, which is coming down in earnest. Then I make out Peeta coming through his front door. I don't want to give President Snow a reason to use Peeta, but the part of me that has longed to see Peeta again, to hold and kiss him takes over and I start running. I see the big smile on Peeta's face, and I'm moved to tears. Just like the time I saw him after the Games I leapt into his arms. He catches and spins me around and then he slips – he still isn't entirely in command of his artificial leg – and we fall in the snow, me on top of him. We stare at each other for a time, taking in each other's features as if we haven't seen each other in months.

 _We just saw each other a couple of hours ago._ I thought.

That's where we share our first kiss in months. It's full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all of that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings. And I know that I'm not alone. As badly as I hurt him, he won't expose me in front of the cameras. Won't condemn with a halfhearted kiss. He's still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought make me want to cry even more. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove in through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way.

The rest of the day is a blur of getting to the station, bidding everybody good-bye, the train pulling out, the old team – Peeta and me, Effie and Haymitch, Cinna and Portia – dining on an indescribably delicious meal I don't remember. And then I'm swathed in pajamas and voluminous robe, sitting in my plush compartment, waiting for the others to fall asleep. I know Haymitch will be up for hours. He doesn't like to sleep when it's dark out.

When the train seems quiet, I put my slippers on and pad down to his door. I have to knock several times before he answers, scowling, as if he certain I've brought bad news.

 _He's not entirely wrong._ I thought.

"What do you want?" He says, nearly knocking me out with a cloud of fumes.

"I have to talk to you." I whisper.

"Now?" he says. I nod. "It better be good." He waits, but I feel certain that every word we utter on a Capitol train is being recorded. "Well?" he barks.

The train starts to brake and for a second I feel like President Snow is watching me and doesn't approve of me confiding in Haymitch and has decided to kill me now. But we're only stopping for fuel.

"The trains so stuffy." I say.

It's a harmless phrase, but I see Haymitch's narrow in understanding. "I know what you need." He pushes past me and lurches down the hall to a door. When he wrestles it open, a blast of snow hits us. He trips out onto the ground. A Capitol attendant rushes to help, but Haymitch waves her away good-naturedly as he staggers off. "Just want some fresh air. Only be a minute."

"Sorry. He's drunk." I say apologetically. "I'll get him."

I jump down and stumble along the track behind him, soaking my slippers in the snow, he leads beyond the end of the train so we won't be overhead. Then he turns on me.

"What?"

I tell him everything. About President Snow's visit, about Gale, about how we're all going to die if I fail.

His face sobers, grows older in the glow of the red taillights. "Then you can't fail."

"If you could just help me get through this trip –" I begin.

"No, Katniss, it's not just this trip," he says.

"What do you mean?" I say.

"Even if you pull it off, they'll be back in another few months and take us all to the Games. You and Peeta, you'll be mentors now, every year from here on out. And every year they'll revisit your romance and broadcast the details of your private life, and you'll never, ever be able to do anything but live happily ever after with that boy."

And then the full impact of what he saying hits me. I will never be able to move openly with Gale. I will have to be forever in love with Peeta.

 _Not that I have a problem loving Peeta, but I want to do it on my terms, not somebody else'._ I thought.

The Capitol will insist on it. I'll have a few years maybe, because I'm still only sixteen, to stay with my mom and Prim. And then… and then…

"Do you understand what I mean?" he presses me.

I nod. He means there's only one future, if I want to keep those I love alive and stay alive myself. I'll have to marry Peeta.

 _On the Capitol's terms._ I think.


	31. Chapter 31

We slog back to the train in silence. In the hallway outside my door, Haymitch gives my shoulder a pat and says, "You could do a lot worse." He heads off to his compartment, taking the smell of wine with him.

In my room, I remove my sodden slippers, my wet robe and pajamas. There are more in the drawers but I crawl between the covers of my bed in my underclothes. I stare into darkness, thinking about my conversation with Haymitch. Everything he said about was true about the Capitol's expectations, my future with Peeta, even his last comment. Of course, I could do worse than Peeta. That is definitely not the point here. One of the few freedoms we had in District 12 is the right to marry who we want or not to marry at all.

 _A right I was going to keep had I not fallen for Peeta._ I thought.

But even that right has been taken away from me. I wonder if President Snow will insist we have children. If we do, they'll face the reaping every year. And wouldn't it be something if the child of not one but two victors was chosen for the arena? Victors' children have been in the ring before. It always causes a lot of excitement and generates talks about how the odds are not in the family's favor. But it happens to frequently to just be about odds. Gale's convinced the Capitol does it on purpose, rigs the drawing to add extra drama. Given all the trouble I caused, I've probably guaranteed any child of mine a spot in the Games.

I think of Haymitch, unmarried, no family, blotting out the world with drink. He could have had his choice of any woman in the district. And chose solitude. Not solitude – that sounds too peaceful. More like solitary confinement. Was it because, having been in the arena, he knew it was better than risking the alternative? I had a taste of the alternative when they called Prim's name on reaping day and I watched her walk to her death. But as her sister I could take her place, an option forbidden to our mom.

My mind searches frantically for a way out. I can't let President Snow condemn me to this. If it wasn't for my love of Peeta I might consider taking my own life, but that's not an option. I can't run away. I won't let the district suffer because of my actions. But what would they do if I did run away? Just disappeared into the woods and never came out? Take everybody I love with me, and start a new life deep in the wild? Highly unlikely, and they'd most likely punish District Twelve because of me.

I shake my head to clear it. This is not the time to be making wild escape plans. I must focus on the Victory Tour. At first I thought a lot of people might die if I fail, but something about President Snow's words that don't sit well with me.

 _Prove to me._ His words echo in my mind.

Dawn comes before sleep does, and there's Effie rapping on the door. I pull on whatever clothes are at the top of the drawer and drag myself down to the dining car. I don't see what difference it makes when I get up, since this is a travel day, but then it turns out that yesterday's makeover was just to get me to the train station. Today I'll get the works from my prep team.

"Why? It's too cold for anything to show," I grumble.

"Not in District Eleven," Effie says.

District 11. Our first stop. I would rather start in any other district since that is Rue's home. But that's not how the Victory Tour works. Usually it kicks off in 12 and then goes in descending district order to 1, followed by the Capitol. The victor's district is skipped and saved for the very last. Since 12 puts on the very least fabulous celebration – usually a dinner for the tributes and a victory rally in the square where nobody looks like they're having any fun – it's probably best to get us out of the way as soon as possible. This year, for the first time since Haymitch won, the final stop on the tour will be 12, and the Capitol will spring for the festivities.

 _Then again, maybe it's better to get it 11 of the way first. Then I can put it behind me, and move on with the rest of the tour._ I thought.

I try to enjoy the food like Hazelle said. The kitchen staff clearly wants to please me. They prepared my favorite, lamb stew with dried plumbs, among other delicacies. Orange juice and a pot of steaming hot chocolate wait at my place of the table. I see the orange juice and I reminded the glass when I came out of the arena six months ago, but I drink it anyways. I eat a lot of food too, the meal is beyond reproach, but I can't say I'm enjoying it. I'm also annoyed that no one but Effie and I has shown up.

"Where's everybody else?" I ask

"Oh, who knows where Haymitch is," Effie say. I didn't really expect Haymitch, because he's probably just getting to bed. "Cinna was up late working on organizing you garment car. He must have over a hundred outfits for you. Your evening clothes are exquisite. And Peeta's team is probably still asleep."

"Doesn't he need prepping?" I ask.

"Not the way you do," Effie replies.

 _What does that mean?_ I think.

Effie missed the blank stare I gave her because she was engrossed in the coffee she was making. It means that I get to spend my mornings having the hair ripped off my body while Peeta sleeps in. I hadn't thought about it much, but in the arena some of the boys got to keep their body hair whereas none of the girls did. I can remember Peeta's now, as I bathed him by the stream. Very blond in the sunlight, once the mud and blood had been washed away. Only his face remained completely smooth. Not one of the boys grew a beard, and many were old enough to. I wonder what they did to them. A new thought enters my mind again. It's a new only because it's a different thought, but I entertained it thought six months ago.

"Effie I have a question." I say.

"What's that dear?" Effie asked.

"It's about Haymitch." I say.

"Yeah, no. I don't think that would be a good idea." Effie said, as if she knew where this was going.

"Why not? You've been the escort for District Twelve now for five and a half years. How long did the last escort last before they transferred?" I asked.

"If I remember correctly my predecessor lasted two years." Effie said.

I looked at Effie's hand and I saw a small flask. I'm a little taken back by this new development, but I push on.

"Why did they transfer?" I asked.

"They didn't. They came down with alcohol poisoning, and died." Effie said.

"All the others?" I asked with a grimace.

"Most lasted only two or three Games, and then transfer because of Haymitch's caustic, and cavalier attitude." Effie says.

"Yet you're still here. It seems that Haymitch has rubbed off on you." I said.

"Having to watch children die for the past ten years has started to wear down my resolve. Not only that Haymitch is like a fine red wine, he's an acquired taste." Effie says.

I stare, slack jaw and bugged eyed at Effie. I watch as Effie nonchalantly sips her coffee, and then starts in on the plate in front of her.

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask." I say.

"Haymitch and I had a drink once, or twice." Effie said.

I raise my cup of hot chocolate for a toast, and Effie raised her cup of spiked coffee. I downed my drink and then went to get remade. Little did I know I gave Effie something to think about.

 _I'm betting Haymitch gave that flask to Effie._ I think.

If I feel ragged, my prep team seems in worse condition, knocking back coffee and sharing brightly colored pills. As far as I can tell, they never get up before noon unless there's some kind of national emergency.

 _Like my leg hair._ I think.

I was so happy when it grew back in too. As if it were a sign things might be returning to normal. I run my fingers along the soft, curly down on my legs and give myself over to my team. None of them are up to their usual chatter, so I can hear every strand being yanked from its follicle. I have to soak in a bath of thick, unpleasant-smelling solution, while my face and hair are plastered with creams. Two more baths follow in other, less offensive, concoctions. I'm plucked, scoured, massaged, and anointed until I'm raw.

Flavius tilts my chin up and sighs. "It's a shame that Cinna said no alterations on you."

 _No thank you._ I think.

"Yes, we could really make you something special," says Octavia.

 _Somebody already thinks I'm special._ I thought.

"When she's older," says Venia almost grimly. "Then he'll have to let us."

Do what? Blow my lips up like President Snow's? Tattoo my breast? Dye my skin magenta and implant gems in them? Cut decorative patterns into my face? Give me curved talons? Or cat whiskers? _GOD, NO!_ I thought. I saw all these things and more on people in the Capitol. Do they really have no idea how freakish they look to us?

The thought of being left to my prep team's fashion whims only adds to the miseries competing for my attention – my abused body, my lack of sleep, my mandatory marriage, and my terror of being unable to satisfy President Snow's demands. When the prep team finishes with me I head back to the dining car, but something was plaguing me. Why would President Snow be worried about how I was acting with Peeta, instead of not trying to calm the districts? The obvious answer is that I, no matter what I do, would not be able to calm the districts. By the time I reach lunch, where Effie, Cinna, Portia, Haymitch, and Peeta have started without me, I'm too weighed down to talk. They're raving about the food and how well they sleep on trains. Everyone's full of excitement about the tour. Well, everyone but Haymitch. He's nursing a hangover and picking at a muffin.

 _I should have joined him for a drink last night._ I think.

I'm not really hungry, either, maybe because I loaded up on so much rich stuff this morning or maybe because I'm so unhappy. I play around with a bowl of broth, eating only a spoonful or two. I can't even look at Peeta – my _designated_ future husband – even though none of this is his fault, and how I wanted it to play out.

People notice, try to bring me into the conversation, but I politely decline. This gets Peeta's attention, sort of. At some point, the train stops. Our server reports that it won't just be a fuel stop – some part has malfunctioned and must be replaced. It will require at least an hour. This sends Effie into a state. She pulls out her schedule and begins to work out how the delay will impact every event for the rest of our lives. Finally I can't stand to listen to her anymore.

"Effie! When we get to District Eleven you tell the town leadership that the train broke down, and they had to stop to fix it!" I snap.

Everyone at the table stares at me, even Haymitch, who you'd think would be on my side I this matter since Effie drives him nuts. _They're all looking at me like I'm crazy. Might as well bring it home._ I thought.

"And if they don't like it, you can tell them to shove it up where the sun doesn't shine. Excuse me." I say, getting up and leaving the dining car.

The train is stifling all of a sudden and I feel a wave nausea come over me. I find the exit door, force it open – triggering some sort of alarm, which I ignore – and jump to the ground, expecting to land in snow. But the airs warm and balmy against my skin. The trees are still green with leaves. How far south have we come in a day? I walk along the track, squinting against the bright sunlight. I might feel sorry towards Effie, but I was only trying to impress upon her that you can't prepare for everything. Not only that, she's hardly to blame for my current predicament. I should go back and apologize. My outburst was the height of bad manners, and manners matter deeply to her. But my feet continue along the track, past the end of the train, leaving it behind. An hour's delay. I could walk twenty minutes in any direction and make it back with plenty of time to spare. Instead, after a couple hundred yards, I sink to the ground and sit there, looking into the distance. If I had my bow and arrows, would I just keep going?

After a while I hear footsteps behind me. It'll be Haymitch, coming to chew me out. It's not like I don't deserve it, but I still don't want to hear it.

"I'm really not in the mood for a lecture. I'll apologize to Effie later." I warn a clump of weeds next to my shoes.

There's no answer for a few seconds, and I feel the grass next to me move as someone sits down next to me. I turn to see that it's Peeta, and my heart sinks into my stomach. I knew that this day would come, I just didn't want to have this conversation. I can feel the sadness start to infect every fiber of my body, and I have to clear my throat to keep the tears at bay.

"I thought you were Haymitch." I say.

"No, he's still working on that muffin." I watch as Peeta positions artificial leg. "Bad day, huh?"

"You could say that." I say with a chuckle.

There was a moment of silence, and I felt like I had to say something. It felt like the silence was crushing me.

"I'm sorry." I say.

"You don't have to apologize to anybody. Including me." Peeta says.

The fact that Peeta is letting me off after six months of no contact, other than when we saw each other the day Prim bought the cake, is a little disarming. I turn to look at Peeta directly, face to face.

"I know it's not fair of me to hold you to things you said in The Games. You saved us. I know that." Peeta says.

 _Nothing said in The Games was a lie. I meant every word. I meant every kiss. I wanted to die when they told us that only one of us could live._ I thought. I cleared my throat again to push back the tears.

"But I can't go on acting in front of cameras, and then just ignoring each other in real life. So if you can stop looking at me like I'm wounded, then I can't stop acting like it. And then maybe we have a shot at being friends." Peeta says.

When Peeta says that I should stop _looking at him like he's wounded_ , I avert my eyes. I can't tell him. I can't tell Peeta that the fact that I look at him like he's wound is because I'm wounded, and I need his strength to get me through this. But I can't say that. To give voice to that problem would open the flood gates of my emotions, and I'm not ready to confront that yet.

 _But he just wants to be friends. After everything we lost at the end of The Games because I risked my life to tell him the truth, so he wouldn't be blindsided later when the truth came out. I don't want that, but if Peeta is willing to forgive me than I have to accept his terms._ I thought.

"I've never been very good at friends." I say, and I have to clear my throat to keep the tears from pouring over. Although I'm pretty certain that Peeta has seen a hint of them. I look back into Peeta's eyes as he begins to speak again, but then I look back down into my lap.

"For starters, it does help when you know the person. I hardly know anything about you except that you're stubborn and good with a bow." Peeta says.

 _And that I'm madly in love with._ I think. I know that we had a relationship developing while we were in the arena, but I'm afraid to make an attempt to start over. _What if he's moved on, and I'm still holding on to something from the past?_ I think.

"That about sums me up." I say.

"No, there's more than that, you just don't want to tell me." say Peeta.

 _I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART!_ I think, but something makes me hold my tongue. It's his turn to talk. I know that, in the very near future, I will have my turn to talk.

"It's like I said, I'm…" I begin

"See, Katniss, the way the whole friend thing works is you have to tell each other the deep stuff." Peeta says.

I feel the tightness in my chest begin to loosen, and I feel lighter. I feel that banter that we developed all those months ago starting to resurface.

"The deep stuff?" I say playfully

"Yeah." Peeta says.

"Uh oh. Like what?" I ask with a grin on my face.

"Like… what's your favorite color?" Peeta asks.

"Well, now you've stepped over a line." I say playfully.

We both share a smile, and we're silent for a time. But this silence is warm and comfortable.

"Seriously, though, what is it?" Peeta asks.

"Green. What's yours?" I ask.

"Orange." Peeta says.

I'm struck with a funny thought when he said that orange was his favorite color.

"Like Effie's hair?" I ask cringing.

"No. Not that orange. A bit more muted. More like… sunset." Peeta says.

Sunset. I can see it immediately, the rim of the descending sun, the sky streaked with soft shades of orange. Beautiful. I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta's talking to me again, it's all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn't want me to. I'd better stick to small talk.

"You know, everybody's always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven't seen them yet." I say

"Well, I got a whole train car full of them." He rises and offers me his hand. It feels good to have his fingers entwined with mine again. Even though I want something deeper with Peeta, it's better than being for show. We walk back to the train hand in hand. At the door, I remember. "I've got to apologize to Effie first."

"Don't be afraid to lay it on thick." Peeta tells me.

So when we go back to the dining car, where the others are still at lunch, I give Effie and apology I think is overkill but in her mind probably just manages to compensate for my breach of etiquette. To her credit, Effie accepts graciously. She says it's clear that I'm under a lot of stress. And her comments about the necessity about _someone_ attending to a schedule only last about five minutes. Really, I've gotten off easily.

When Effie finishes, Peeta leads me down a few cars to see his paintings. I don't know what to expect. A larger version of the flower cookies maybe. But this is something entirely different. Peeta has painted the Games.

Some you won't get right away, if you hadn't been with him in the arena yourself. Water dripping through the cracks in our cave. The dry pond bed. A pair of hands, his own, digging for roots. Others any viewer would recognize. The golden horn called the Cornucopia. Clove arranging knives inside her jacket. One of the mutts, unmistakably the blond, green-eyed meant to be Glimmer, snarling as it makes it way over to us. And me. I'm everywhere. High up in a tree. Beating a shirt against the stones in the stream. Lying unconscious in a pool of blood. And one I can't place – perhaps this is how I looked when his fever was high – emerging from a silver gray mist that matches my eyes exactly.

"What do you think?" he asks.

"I hate them," I say. I can almost smell the blood, the dirt, the unnatural breath of the mutt. "All I do is go around and try to forget the arena and you've brought them back to life. How do you remember these things so exactly?"

"I see them every night." He says.

I know what he means. Nightmares— which I was no stranger to before the Games – now plague me whenever I sleep. But the old standby, the one of my father being blown to bits in the mines, is rare. Instead I relive versions of what happened in the arena. My worthless attempt to save Rue. Peeta bleeding to death. Glimmer's bloated body disintegrating in my hands. Cato's horrific end with the muttations. These are the most frequent visitors. I take Peeta's hand and gently start rubbing it. I have no idea why I did it, it just felt natural. "Me, too. Does it help? To paint them?"

"I don't know. I think I'm a little less afraid to go to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am." Peeta says relaxing. "But they haven't gone anywhere."

"Maybe they won't. Haymitch's hasn't." Haymitch doesn't say so, but I'm sure this is why he doesn't like to sleep in the dark.

"No, but for me it's better to wake up with a paintbrush than a knife in my hand," He says. "So you really hate them?"

"Yes, and no. Yes, because the only way for you to forget is to paint them. No because they are exquisite." I say. I felt Peeta squeeze my hand. I don't want to look at them anymore. "Want to see my talent? Cinna did a great job on it."

Peeta laughs. "Later." The train lurches forward, and I can see the land moving past us through the window. "Come on, we're almost to District Eleven. Let's go take a look at it." We go down to the last train car. There are chairs and couches to sit on, but what's wonderful is that the back windows retract into the ceiling so you're riding outside, in the fresh air, and you can see a wide sweep of the landscape. Huge open fields with dairy cattle grazing in them. So unlike our heavily wooded home.

We slow slightly and I think we might be coming in for another stop, when a fences rises up before us. Towering at least thirty-five feet in the air and topped with wicked coils of barbed wire, it makes ours back in District 12 seem like child's play. My eyes quickly scan the base, which is covered with enormous metal plates. There would be no burrowing under those, no escaping to hunt. Then I see watchtowers, placed evenly apart, manned with armed guards, so out of place with the fields of wildflowers around them.

"That's something different." Peeta says.

"Clearly." I say.

Rue did give the impression that the rules in District 11 were more harshly enforced. But I never imagined something like this.

Now the crops begin, stretched as far as the eye can see. Men, women, and children wearing straws hats to keep the sun off of them straighten up, turn our way, take a moment to stretch their backs as they watch our train go by. I can see the orchards in the distance, and I wonder if that's where Rue would have worked, collecting the fruit from the slimmest branches at the tops of the trees. Small communities of shacks—by comparison the houses in the Seam are upscale—spring up here and there, but they're all deserted.

 _Rue did say that every hand was need to work the harvest._ I thought.

On and on it goes. I can't believe the size of District 11. "How many people do you think live here?" Peeta asks. I shake my head. In school they refer to it as the largest district, that's all. No actually figures on population. But those kids we see on camera waiting for the reaping each year, they can't be but a sampling of the ones who actually live here. What do they do? Have preliminary drawings? Pick the winners ahead of time, and make sure they're in the crowd? How did Rue end up on the stage with nothing but the wind offering to take her place?

I begin to weary of the vastness, the endlessness of this place. When Effie comes to tell us to dress, I don't object. I go to my compartment and let the prep team do my hair and makeup. Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock pattern with autumn leave. I think how much Peeta will love the color.

Effie gets Peeta and me together and goes over the day's program one last time. In some districts the victors ride through the city while the residents cheer. But in 11—maybe because there isn't much of a city to being with, things being so spread out, or maybe because they don't want to waste so many people while the harvest is on—the public appearance is confine to the square. It takes place before their Justice Building, a huge marble structure. Once it must have been a thing of beauty, but time has taken its toll. Even on television you can see ivy overtaking the crumbling facade, the sag of the roof. The square itself is ringed with run-down storefronts, most of which are abandoned. Wherever the well-to-do in District 11, it's not here.

Our entire public performance will be staged outside on what Effie called the verandah, the tiled expanse between the front doors and the stairs that's shaded by a roof supported by columns. Peeta and I will be introduced, the mayor of 11 will read a speech in our honor, and we'll respond with a scripted thank-you provided by the Capitol. If a victor had any special allies among the dead tributes, it would be consider good form to add a few personal comments as well. I should say something about Rue, and Thresh, too, really, but every time I tried to write it at home, I ended up with a blank piece of paper staring me in the face. It's hard for me to talk about them without getting emotional. Fortunately, Peeta has a little something worked up, and with some slight alterations, it can be for both of us. At the end of the ceremony, we will be presented with some sort of plaque, and then we can withdraw to the Justice Building, where a special dinner will be served.

As the train is pulling into the District 11 station, Cinna puts the finishing touches on my outfit, switching my orange hair band for one of metallic gold and securing the mockingjay pin I wore in the arena on my dress. There's no welcoming committee on the platform, just a squad of eight peacekeepers who direct us into the back of an armored truck. Effie sniffs as the doors clank close behind us. "Really, you'd think we were all criminals," she says.

 _Not all us. I wonder, was 11 one of the districts on the verge of an uprising._ I think.

The truck lets us out at the back of the Justice Building. We're hurried inside. I can smell an excellent meal being prepared, but it doesn't block out the odors of mildew and rot. We're being herded to the front door, so I get as close to Peeta, so only we will hear.

"Peeta listen carefully. Under no circumstances are you to deviate from the script. Well, no more than a thank you at best, do you understand?" I ask.

"Yeah, but why?" Peeta asks.

"Something bad will happen." I say.

"How bad?" Peeta asks.

"As of right now, I don't know. I know your heart, you will try to help these people, but you can't. If the burden becomes too great to bear let me know, okay?" I ask.

Peeta didn't respond, all he did was nod his head. I can see it in his eye that this is going to cause a problem, but I did what I had to do. While we were talking I missed the fact that the anthem was blaring very loud. Someone clips a microphone on me. Peeta takes my left hand. The mayor introducing us as the massive doors open with a groan.

"Big smiles!" Effie says, giving us a nudge. Our feet start moving forward.

 _This is it._ I think. But then I remember President Snow's warning. _Prove to me._

I unwilling, and inadvertently, defy the President Snow's orders. If he kills Gale, he will unwitting cause that which he fears the most: rebellion. With me at the forefront. But that is for another time, and another place. There's loud applause, but none of the other responses we got in the Capitol, the cheers the whoops and the whistles. We walk across the shaded verandah until the roof runs out and we're standing at the top of a big flight of marble stairs in the glaring sun. As my eyes adjust, I see the buildings on the have been hung banners to that help cover up their neglected state. It's packed with people, but again, just a fraction of the number who live here.

As usual, a special platform has been constructed at the bottom of the stage for families of the dead tributes. On Thresh's side, there's only an old woman with a hunch back and a tall muscular girl I'm guessing is his sister. On Rue's… I'm not prepared for Rue's family. Her parents, whose face is still fresh with sorrow. Her five younger siblings, who resemble her so closely. The slight builds, the luminous brown eyes. They form a flock of small dark birds. The applause dies out and the mayor gives the speech in our honor. Two little girls come up with tremendous bouquet of flowers. Peeta does his part of the scripted reply and then I find lips moving to conclude it. Fortunately my mom and Prim had drilled me so I can do it in my sleep.

Peeta had his personal comments written on a card, he doesn't pull them out. Instead he speaks in his simple, winning style about Thresh and Rue making it to the final eight, about how they both kept me alive – thereby keeping him alive – and about how this is a debt we can never repay. And then Peeta hesitates. I know this is something that he wanted to do. Wanted to do so desperately, but I told him not to. I can see the grief start to overtake him, and then Peeta looks at me. I could see the tears in his eyes. I reach out and pat his shoulder and then turn to the crowd.

 _I have no idea what Peeta was about to say, but I have to protect him. I was the one they wanted to hear from anyways._ I think.

"I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District Eleven," I say. I look at the pair of women standing on Thresh's side. "I only spoke to Thresh one time. Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn't. I respected him for that."

For the first time the old hunched woman – is she Thresh's grandmother? – raises her head and a trace of a smile plays on her lips. The crowd has fallen silent now, so silent I wonder how they manage it. They must all be holding their breath.

I turn to Rue's family. "But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all I see her in my sister Prim." My voice becomes undependable, but I'm almost finished. "Thank you for your children." I raise my chin to address the crowd. "And thank you for your bread."

I stand there, feeling broken and small, thousands of eyes trained on me. There's a long pause, during which I feel Peeta wrap a comforting arm around my shoulders. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, someone whistles Rue's four-note mockingjay tune. The one that signaled the end of the work day in the orchards. The one that meant safety in the arena. By the end of the tune, I have found the whistler, a wizened old man in a faded red shirt and overalls. His eyes meet mine.

What happens next is not an accident. It's too well executed to be spontaneous, because it happens in complete unison. Every person in the crowd presses their three middle fingers on their left hands against their lips and extends them to me. It's our sign from District 12, the last good-bye I gave to Rue in the arena.

I was on the verge of tears that was until I saw a group of peacekeepers on the edge of the crowd begin to move. They pushed their way through the crowd to the old man. I begin to move, dropping my flowers. I didn't mean to move, I didn't even know that I was moving, or what I had planned to do when I got there, but I was moving. Just as I got the edge of the crowd I was stopped by two peacekeepers, who had hooked their arms underneath mine, and dragged me back to the Justice Building. I shout incoherently about leaving the man alone, and not to hurt him. But it was in vain. When the doors of the building were closing, not only had they dragged the man to the top of the stairway and force him to his knees, but I saw a handgun in one of the peacekeepers hands, pointed at the old man's head. Just as the doors were shut we could hear the gun being fired.


	32. Chapter 32

Out the corner of my eye I see Peeta stare on in horror at the sight that played out before us. His hands stopped before reaching his mouth. I feel a gambit of emotions course through my body: rage, chock, sadness, anguish, fury, but mostly rage.

 _Some man just died because he whistled, and saluted me!_ I thought.

Something inside me snapped, and I charge the door, driven temporarily insane by the man's death. I feel a pair arms wrap around my waist to restrain me. I try my hardest to break out of this person's embrace, but it's probably Haymitch, he'd be the only one to restrain me. I shout and scream about being let go, and other incoherent phrases. I hear Haymitch tell me to calm down, and I remember where I was, I'm in the Justice Building in District Elven. I stop fighting, but the rage is still coursing through my veins.

"Both of you. With me." Haymitch says after I've relaxed enough for his liking. Peeta and I follow him, leaving the others behind. The Peacekeepers stationed around the Justice Building take little interest now that we are safely inside. We ascend a magnificent curved marble staircase. At the top, there's a long hallway with worn carpet on the floor. Double doors stand open, welcoming us into the first room we encounter. The ceiling must be twenty feet high. Designs of fruits and flowers are carved into the molding and small, fat children with wings look down from every angle. Vases of flowers give off a cloying scent that make my eyes itch. Our evening clothes are hang on racks against the wall. This room has been prepared for our use, but we were just passing through. Haymitch yanks the microphones from our chests, stuffs them beneath a couch cushion, and waves us on.

As far as I know Haymitch has been here once, when he was on the Victory Tour decades ago. But he must have a remarkable memory or reliable instincts, because he leads us through a maze of twisting staircases and increasingly narrow hallways. At times he stops and forces a door. By the protesting squeak of the hinges you can tell it's been a long time since it was opened. Eventually we climb a ladder to a trap door. When Haymitch pushes it aside, we see that we are in the dome of the Justice Building. It's a huge place filled broken furniture, piles of books and ledgers, and rusty weapons. The coat of dust blanketing everything is so thick it's clear it hasn't been disturbed in years. Light struggles to filter in through four grimy square windows set in the side of the dome. Haymitch kicks the trapdoor shut and turns on us.

"What happened?" he asks.

Peeta relates all that occurred in the square. The whistle, the salute, my thank you speech on the verandah, the murder of the old man. "What's going on Haymitch?"

"It would be better coming from you," Haymitch says glaring at me.

 _I disagree. It would be a hundred times worse coming from me._ I think.

I tell Peeta everything as calmly as I can. About the surprise visit from President Snow, the unrest in the districts. I don't even omit the kiss with Gale. I lay out how we're all in jeopardy, how the whole country is in jeopardy because of my trick with the berries. "I was supposed to fix things on this tour. Make everybody who doubted believe that I acted out of love. Calm things down. But instead, all I've managed to do today is get somebody killed, and now everybody in the square will be punished." I feel sick to my stomach, but I remain standing. I owe Peeta that much.

Peeta was silent for a time. Contemplating what I just told him. And when Peeta found his voice he asked. "Is that why you told me to lean on you?" I nod my head. Suddenly he strikes the lamp that sits precariously on a crate and knocks it across the room, where it shatters against the floor. "This has to stop right now. This—this – game where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I'm inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them."

"It's not like that Peeta-" I begin.

"It's exactly like that!" He yells at me. "I have people I care about, too, Katniss! Family and friends back in District Twelve who will be just as dead as yours if we don't pull this off. So, after all that we went through in the arena don't you think I deserved to know the truth."

"I was trying to protect you." I say.

"I don't need protecting." Peeta said.

"Yes you do Peeta. You need protection as much as I need it. Not only that that's what we do, protect each other." I say.

Peeta and I just stare at each other. I want to walk over to him and give him a hug and tell him that he did nothing wrong, but I need to make amends for not telling him the whole story. I see the statue that Peeta's hand is resting on, so I continue talking before he gets the idea to send it flying.

"The reason I was able to communicate with Haymitch is because I understand what he was trying to say by what gifts he sent, or didn't send." I say.

"How so?" Peeta asked.

"If Haymitch sent a gift I figured out that they were strings attached to the gift, and I was able to work out what he was trying to say." I say.

"How did you figure it out?" Peeta asked.

"It comes with the territory. It comes from growing up in the Seam where not all things were guaranteed." I said.

"Well, I never had that opportunity. Because he never sent me anything until you showed up." Peeta said.

 _Technically he sent that pot of broth to me, but I said it was to him._ I think remembering the incident in question. I remember the jealousy in Peeta's voice when I told him that I got two gifts from Haymitch and he didn't. How it must have looked from Peeta's perspective when I appeared in the arena after receiving the burn medicine and bread, when he, who was at death's door, had gotten nothing. Like Haymitch was keeping me alive at his expense.

 _Another reason I couldn't stand Haymitch during the Games._ I thought.

"Look, boy-" Haymitch begins.

"Don't bother, Haymitch. I know you had to choose one of us. And I would have wanted it to be her. But this is something different. A man is dead. More will follow unless we're very good." Peeta says.

"No there won't." I say.

"What?" Haymitch and Peeta ask in unison.

"There won't be any more deaths. You know what's at stake, and we already have a plan in place." I say.

"What's the plan?" Peeta asks.

"What I already suggested. Sticking the cards that were given to us. Not only that your family and friends aren't in any trouble." I say a look of defeat in my eyes.

"Why?" Peeta asks. I can see the concern in his eyes.

"Because I'm the one who started all this mess. _I_ pulled out the berries." I say placing emphasis on myself.

"I know you pulled out the berries-" Peeta begins.

"Peeta! Pull the blinders off of your eyes and see the real problem here!" It's my turn to shout.

Peeta just stares at me in disbelief. Haymitch is all ears.

"Why are we in this mess?" I ask plainly.

"Because you wanted to save me, instead of having to go back to District Twelve alone." Peeta says. "You chose to, at great risk to yourself, to tell me that the Capitol had it out for you and that you needed my help to get out of it."

"And what did you do?" I asked.

"I played the part that I was required to play." Peeta said.

"In the eyes of the Capitol, how does that make you look to them?" I ask.

Peeta mulled this over for a few minutes. When he came to the realization that I was trying tell him, Peeta look at me, his face is a pale shade of white.

"But Katniss-" Peeta begins.

"This is my problem Peeta." I say cutting Peeta off. "On top of that, President Snow doesn't want me to quell the districts."

This gets Haymitch's attention. "What?"

"You can't honestly believe that I can keep the districts from rebelling, do you?" I ask Haymitch.

"Then what's the point of this tour than?" Haymitch asks.

"He wants me to prove that I still love Peeta." I say.

"If not to the districts, than who?" Peeta asks.

"President Snow wants me to prove to _him_ that I still love you." I say.

There's a moment of silence. The seconds tick by before Peeta asks. "Why does he want you to prove to him that you still love me?"

"This is the Capitol were talking about. It could be for a dozen of reasons." I say, but suddenly something dawns on me.

 _Control. If I prove that I still love Peeta, President Snow can use him as a means to control me. I can't let that happen!_ I think.

Peeta shakes his head in disgust.

"From now on, you'll be fully informed." Haymitch promises.

"I better be," says Peeta. He doesn't bother to look at me when he leave. He's probably not happy that I back myself into this corner, and there's no real escape from it, and how there's nothing he can do to protect me either.

The dust he disrupted billows and looks for a new places to land. My hair, my eyes, my shiny gold pin.

"Did you choose me, Haymitch?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says.

"Why? You like him better." I say.

"That's true. But remember, until they changed the rules, I could only hope to get one of you out of there alive," he says. "I thought since he was determined to protect you, well, between the three of us, we might be able to bring you home."

"Oh." was all I can say. Not that I couldn't think of anything else, it's just that if I did it would let on the fact that their _arrangement_ still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

"You'll see, the choices you'll have to make. If we survive this." Haymitch says. "You'll learn."

 _Not likely._ I think.

The only thing I learned today is that this place is not a large version of District 12. Our fence is unguarded and rarely charged. Our Peacekeepers are unwelcomed but less brutal. Our hardships evoke more fatigue than fury. Here in 11, they suffer more acutely and feel more desperation. I hate to admit it, but President Snow is right. A spark could be enough to set them ablaze.

 _But that's not my doing. That's the president's fault._ I think.

"Come on. We've got a dinner to attend," says Haymitch.

I stand in the shower as long as they let before I have to come out and be readied. The prep team seems oblivious to the events of the day. They're all excited about the dinner. In the districts they're important enough to attend, whereas back in the Capitol they almost never score invites to prestigious parties. While they try to predict what dishes will be served, I keep seeing that old man's head being blown off. I don't even pay attention to what anyone's doing to me until I'm about to leave and I see myself in a mirror. A pale pink strapless dress brushes my shoes. My hair is pinned back from my face falling in a shower of ringlets.

Cinna comes up behind me and arranges a shimmering silver wrap on my shoulders. He catches my eye in the mirror. "Like it?"

"It's beautiful. As always," I say.

"Let's see how it looks with a smile," he says gently. It's his reminder that in a minute, there will be cameras again. I manage to raise the corners of my lips. "There we go."

When we assemble to go down to dinner, I can see Effie is out of sorts. Surely, Haymitch hasn't told her about what has happened in the square. I wouldn't be surprised if Cinna and Portia know, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement to leave Effie out of the bad-news loop. It doesn't take long to hear about a problem, though.

Effie runs through the evening's schedule, then tosses it aside. "And then, thank goodness, we can all get on that train and get out of here."

"Is something wrong, Effie?" Cinna asked.

"I don't like the way we're being treated. Being stuffed into trucks and being barred from the platform. And then, about an hour ago, I decide to look around the Justice Building. I'm something of an expert of in architectural design, you know," she says.

"Oh, yes, I've heard that," Portia says before the pause gets too long.

"So, I just was just having a peek around district ruins are going to be all the rage this year, when two Peacekeepers show up and order me back to my quarters. One of them actually poked me with her gun!" says Effie.

I can't help thinking this is a direct result Haymitch, Peeta and I disappearing earlier in the day. It's a little reassuring, actually, to think that Haymitch might have been right. That no one would have been monitoring the dusty dome where we talked. Although, I bet they are now.

Effie looks so distressed that I spontaneously give her a hug. "That's awful, Effie. Maybe we shouldn't go to dinner at all. At least until they apologize." I know she'll never agree to this, but she brightens considerably at my suggestion, at the vindication of her complaint.

"No, I'll manage. It's part of my job to weather the ups and the downs. And we can't let you two miss your dinner," she says. "But thank you for the offer, Katniss."

Effie arranges us in formation for our entrance. First the prep teams, then her, the stylists, Haymitch. Peeta and I, of course, bring up the rear.

Somewhere below, musicians begin to play. As the first wave of our procession begins down the steps, Peeta and I join hands.

"Haymitch says I was wrong for yelling at you. You were only operating under his instructions." Peeta says. "And it isn't as if I haven't kept things from you in the past."

I remember the dread that washed over when Peeta confessed his love for me in front of all of Panem. If it wasn't for the fact that the Careers had wanted my blood, I might have blushed for real, instead of faking it to perpetuate the act.

"It's not the same thing. What you hid compared to what I hid." I say. "I wanted that to play out differently. There's no point to it anymore, though, is there? Not being straight with each other?"

"No point," Peeta says. We stand at the top of the stairs, giving Haymitch a fifteen-step led as Effie directed. "Was that really the only time that Gale kissed you."

I'm so startled I answer. "Yes." With all that happened today, has that question actually been preying on him?

"That's fifteen. Let's do it," he says.

A light hits us and I put on the most dazzling smile I can. We descend the stairs and get sucked into what becomes indistinguishable round of dinners, celebrations, and train rides. Each day is the same. Wake up. Get dressed. Ride through the crowds. Listen to speeches in our honor. Give a thank-you speech in return, but only the one that Capitol gave us, never any personal additions now. Sometimes a brief tour: a glimpse of the sea in one district, towering forests in another, ugly factories, fields of wheat, stinking refineries. Dress in evening clothes. Attend dinner. Train.

During ceremonies, we are solemn and respectful but always linked together, by our hand, our arms. At dinner we're borderline delirious in our love for each other. We kiss, we dance, we get caught trying to sneak away to be alone. On the train we are quite miserable as we try to assess the effect we might be having.

Even without my personal speech to trigger dissent – needless to say the one I gave in District 11 was edited out before the event was broadcast – you can feel something in the air, the rolling boil of a pot about to run over. Not everywhere. Some crowds have the weary-cattle feel that I know District 12 usually projects at victors' ceremonies. But in others – particular 8, 4, and 3 – there is genuine elation in the faces of the people at the sight of us, and underneath that elation, fury. When they chant my name, it's more a cry for vengeance than a cheer. When the Peacekeepers move into the calm an unruly crowd, it presses back instead of retreating.

 _As I figured, there is nothing I can do to calm the crowd. No show of love, however believable, will stem the tide. If my holding out those berries was an act of temporary insanity, then these people will embrace the insanity, too._ I think.

Cinna beings to take in my clothes around the waist. The prep team frets over the circle under my eyes. Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don't work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends most nights roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong my horrible dreams. He manages to wake and calm me down. Then he climbs into to bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. The first night we just held each other, but every night after that our bodies found the rhythm that we developed during our stay at the Capitol, and the in arena. On the fourth night of passionate kissing, I found the nerve to pour my heart out to Peeta.

"Peeta." I say, breathing heavily after pulling away from a kiss.

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks.

"Where do I begin?" I say.

"Start at the beginning." Peeta encourages.

"I have a lot on my mind, so please to don't interrupt me, or I might lose my courage." I say.

Peeta kisses me lightly, and then looks at me expectantly.

"You want me to stop looking at you like your wounded, but I can't because I'm wounded." I say.

"Umm, okay." Peeta says, not sure what to think of it.

"Remember when I told you when we were in the arena that kissing you was for my benefit, and not yours." I said.

"Yeah, but why bring that up?" Peeta asked.

"Do you know how many times I was worried for you, or cried when I found you were in that put by yourself?" I asked the tears building in my eyes.

"No." Peeta said.

"The fact that you were still alive and not dead, even though you were knocking at death's door, was a huge relief to me. I couldn't get enough of you, of being in your presence, or your kisses." I said kissing Peeta. "When Haymitch wouldn't let me talk to you the morning before the final interview I got in his face and blamed him for the rift that was going to form in our relationship."

When the word relationship left my lips, Peeta gave me a light kiss. Which I returned in kind.

"When I saw you that afternoon at Haymitch's house before the Victor's Tour I was fighting back tears because I missed you so badly, and what we had. And when you gave me a big piece of bread I had to fight back more tears. I missed your kisses, your smile, your hugs, and mostly I missed not being with you. That day when Prim bought the cake I'm sure you saw my tears. I'm sorry for not coming and apologizing, and telling you this sooner. I don't know why I couldn't find the courage to come to you, so we could get back to what we had before the Games finished." I say

I had to stop because my tears became too much for me hold back. I buried my face into Peeta's chest, and he just held me, gently rubbing my back. Once I regained my composure I continued.

"When Gale kissed me after the Games, he kissed me because he knew that he had lost me." I say.

"Lost you, how?" Peeta asked.

"I told him that everything that happened in the arena wasn't an act, that everything I said and did was real. Every kiss and hug I gave, I gave because I felt something for you. And if I had to point to when it all began it was the night of the Open Ceremonies, and I know you felt it too." I say.

Peeta smiled at me, and gave me a kiss. I felt the tears begin to form again because I was reaching the end.

"I know that I dug myself into this mess when I pulled out those berries, and I know it upsets you that there's nothing you can do to save me from this, but I would do it again. I would rather eat the nightlock berries and die with you, than live without you. If I would have let you die in that arena I would have never left. I would have left physically, but mentally I would have spent the rest of my life trying think of how I could have gotten you out." I said.

As I finish my last sentence, it was Peeta's turn to shed tears. Peeta buries his face in my shoulder, and I let him cry, but I finish pouring out my heart.

"I need you Peeta. I know that I need you strength to finish this. I could care less about the tour, or being a mentor. I owe you everything, Peeta, and you owe me nothing." I say. I felt Peeta tense up, his body became rigid and his fingers dug deeper into my arm, and back. "I don't know if I want do this alone. I don't know if I can. And if I quit now, they win."

In one fluid movement Peeta's lips found mine, and we were making out. It was a minute before Peeta asked. "What are you saying Katniss?"

"I love you Peeta. And I want to be your girlfriend." I say.

"I love you too, Katniss, and I accept." Peeta says, and we're kissing again.

From the night Peeta accepted me as his girlfriend until the end of the trip, we would either go to bed together sleeping in either Peeta's bed or mine. Our sleeping arrangements quickly becomes the subject of gossip on the train.

When Effie brings it up to me I think, _Good. Maybe it will get back to President Snow._ I tell her we'll make an effort to be more discreet, but we don't.

The morning after we leave District 3 finds Haymitch, Peeta, and I in the last car of the train, and we're getting chewed out by him. There's a drink on the table in front of Haymitch.

"Snow is watching us. If your goal is to act like you're in love with each other, I promise you, he's not happy." Haymitch says. "Instead of being in love, you two sound like you're reciting from a drilling manual."

"You try reading that stuff that Effie writes us." Peeta blurts out.

"Tell that to President Snow when you see him two days from now." Haymitch snaps.

"I'm open to suggestions." Peeta shoots back.

"We could get married." I say the words leaving my mouth before I realize they had entered my brain.

Peeta looks sideways at me with a raise eyebrow. I turn to Peeta and mouth _trust me_.

"That's not helping." Haymitch says and then takes a sip of his drink.

"I'm serious. If, like you said, we're on this train forever, the Capitol is going to demand it eventually. Why not now?" I said, more a statement than a question.

"It does make a statement. I'll give you that." Haymitch says.

Peeta thinks for a few moments. "Yeah, sure. Let's do it."

Peeta gets up and leaves the room. That night when we go to bed, I don't even wait for an opening.

"I made the suggestion for the marriage because as I said the Capitol will demand it in a couple years when we come of age. I don't like it any more than you do." I say.

"I know, it's just that-" Peeta begins.

"You wanted to marry me on your terms, and not the Capitol's." I say.

"Yeah." Peeta says.

"I know, babe." I said. Peeta looks at me longingly when I call him babe, its new word for the both of us. We kiss lightly, and then I continue. "I came to that realization the night we left District 12."

We fall into a comfortable silence with me drifting off to sleep first, and then Peeta not far behind. The stop in District 1 was uneventful, then again what do they have to be angry about? They live comfortably compared to the other districts. After the dinner celebration, we make our way back to the train, and head to the Capitol. The moment we step off the train in the Capitol, a car is waiting to take us to a studio film the video of Peeta proposing to me, and Caesar is there to witness the event first hand. Caesar says that they will air the video at one o'clock. Peeta and I wave good-bye, and then leave the studio.

When we get back to our old quarters in the Training Center, we get a couple of hours to ourselves before the prep teams come and get us ready for the ball tonight. Peeta and I get a bite to eat, and then make our way back to my room. We share a few kisses, but we fall asleep. At four o'clock Haymitch comes calling and sees us sleeping together. Peeta was the first to wake up. I'm starting to wake up when Peeta gently kisses my forehead, gently untangles himself from me, and then leaves the room.

I get off the bed and pull a chair up to sit on as the prep team enters. They're abuzz about the Capitol gossip, but mostly they're talking about Peeta and me getting married. Cinna has me in black ankle length dress, with a bracelet that covers the back of my hand, but leaves my palm open. My hair has two braids woven into, but the rest is down and tucked behind my ears. And Cinna has me wearing minimal makeup. When I step out into the hall I see that Peeta is wears a grey suit with black accents. I feel something primal stir in me when I see Peeta in that suit, and Peeta can see it in my eyes. We leave the Training Center and make our way to the President Palace. I see Effie is in another one of her extravagant, and over the top outfits with it accessories, and the hair style and color to match.

As we get out of the car I hear Effie in fire off another one of her rants.

"The Presidential Palace. The party of the year. Eyes bright. Chins up. Smiles on. I'm talking to you, Katniss." Effie says.

I couldn't smile even if my life depended on it. Effie continued talking, but I missed whatever she was saying because out of the corner of my eye I saw Peeta, while in step, get closer to me. At first I thought Peeta was going to whisper something in my ear, but I felt Peeta's hand smacking my butt, his hand laying horizontal to hit both of my cheeks.

"Eek!" I exclaim. I attempt to cover my mouth with my hand, but the word had already slipped out. I attempt to glare at Peeta, but Effie heard me.

"What's the matter?" Effie asked.

"Nothing." I say quickly, smiling the brightly.

"Are you sure?" Effie asked.

"Katniss is perfectly fine. Katniss was just telling me earlier how excited she was to about coming to the party tonight." Peeta says.

"Yes." was all I could manage get my heart rate under control.

With Effie satisfied, she turned back around and return to her spiel about interviews and photo ops, I turn and punch Peeta in his arm.

"I'll get you back for that." I say just above a whisper.

"I can't wait." Peeta says with an even bigger smile on his face

As we step into the crowd we plaster the same big smiles on our face and greet the crowd as we make our way towards the courtyard palace. I reach for Peeta's hand, instead he offers me his arm, and we walk the rest of the way with our arms linked. I see strange spectacles, not that the citizens aren't strange enough, but I saw one person on my right who looks like he is breathing fire. We keep up with Effie, and then we find ourselves in the courtyard. I see a balcony decorated with roses, the same type that President Snow wore in District Twelve a two weeks ago. I see a spot light shine on the open door, and then President Snow walks out to an applause that goes on for a few seconds. President Snow gives a speech when the crowd falls silent. I don't miss the fact that president doesn't take his eyes off of me, if not for a few seconds here and there, during his speech.

"Tonight, on this, the last day of their tour, I want to welcome our two Victors. Two young people who embody our ideals of strength and valor. And I, personally, want to congratulate them on the announcement of their engagement." President Snow says. The crowd cheers briefly, and Peeta and I smile gratefully to the crowd. "Your love had inspired us. And I know it will go on inspiring us… everyday… for as long as you may live."

President Snow has a drink in his hand, and lifted it to us as if his speech was a toast. The crowd starts cheering, and then we hear fireworks exploding behind us. I turn for a few seconds to look at the fireworks. I wait a few seconds, just to make sure the crowd is watching the fireworks, and then turn back to look at President Snow. When we make eye contact I see him shake his head no.


	33. Chapter 33

I feign a look of horror, but I nod my head slightly, as if telling President Snow that I understand, but my body language doesn't match the look of horror on my face. The only thing that crosses my mind is how I'm going to get Gale and his family out of District 12. How I will convince them, where they will go in the dead of winter, what it will take for them to evade capture are unanswered questions. But at least now I know what I must do.

So instead of crumpling to the ground and weeping I find myself standing up straighter and with more confidence than I have in weeks. I hear President Snow excuse himself, and then party begins formally. Everybody clears the courtyard, and a few couples stay to dance, as the orchestra was warming up to play its first set. I watch other people, dressed in their flamboyant outfits, mingling with the rest of the guests, while others step out onto the dance floor.

But the star of the evening is the food. Tables laden with delicacies line the walls. Everything you can think of, and things you've never dreamed of, lie in wait. Whole roasted cows and pigs and goats still turning on the spit. Huge platters of fowl stuffed with savory fruits and nuts. Ocean creatures drizzled in sauces or begging to be dipped in spicy concoctions. Countless cheeses, breads, vegetables, sweets, and waterfalls of wine. And streams of spirits that flicker with flames. I thought I saw Haymitch hanging out by the bar.

I didn't notice that I lost my appetite as I awaited my fate, but now that it passed, my appetite has returned with my desire to fight back. After weeks of feeling too worried to eat, I'm famished.

"I want to taste everything on the floor," I tell Peeta.

I can see him trying to read my expression, to figure out my transformation. I mouth _later_ because I don't want to tell him that I failed. I don't feel happy about the engagement announcement, but I keep that from my face. His eyes reflect his puzzlement but only briefly, because we're on camera. "Then you'd better pace yourself," he says.

"Okay, no more than one bite of each dish," I say. My resolve is almost immediately broken at the first table, which has twenty or so soups, when I encounter a creamy pumpkin brew sprinkled with silver nuts and tiny black seeds. "I could just eat all night!" I exclaim. But I don't. I weaken again when again at a clear green broth that I can only describe as tasting like springtime, and again when I try a frothy pink soup dotted with raspberries.

Faces appear, names are exchanged, pictures taken, kisses brush my cheek. Apparently my mockingjay pin has spawned a new fashion sensation, because several people come up to show me their accessories. My bird has been replicated on belt buckles, embroidered into silk lapels, even tattooed in intimate places. _Didn't need to know about that last one._ I think. Everyone wants to wear the winners token I can only imagine how nuts that makes President Snow. But what can he do? The Games were such a hit, where the berries were a symbol of desperate girl trying to save her lover.

Peeta and I make no effort to find company but are constantly sought out. We are what no one wants to miss at the party. I act delighted, but I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only a distraction from the food.

Every table presents new temptations, but even on my strict one-taste-per dish, I'm beginning to fill up quickly. I pick up a small roasted bird, bite into it, and my mouth is flooded with the orange sauce. Delicious. But I make Peeta eat the remainder because I want to keep eating things, and the idea of throwing it away, as I see some many people doing so casually, is abhorrent to me. After about ten tables I'm stuffed, and we've only sampled a small number of dishes available.

Just then the prep team descends on us. They're nearly incoherent between the alcohol they've consumed and the sheer ecstasy at being at such a grand affair.

"Why aren't you eating?" asks Octavia.

"I have been, but I can't hold another bite." I say. They all laugh if it's the silliest thing they've ever heard. Peeta and I share a look.

"No one lets that stop them!" says Flavius. They lead us over to a table that holds tiny stemmed wineglasses filled with clear. "Drink this!"

Peeta picks one up to take a sip and they all lose it.

"Not here!" Octavia shrieks.

"You have to do it in there," Venia says, pointing to a door that leads to the toilets. "Or else you will get it all over the floor!"

Peeta looks at the glass again and puts it together. "You mean this will make me puke?"

I flinch at Peeta's question. I stare incredulously between the prep team, and the tiny glass in my hand, as my prep team laughs hysterically. "Of course, so you can keep eating," says Octavia. "I've been twice already. Everyone does it. How else would you have any fun at feast?"

I take it all in, the glasses and what it implies. Peeta sets the glass back on the table with such precision you'd think it might explode. Peeta offers me his arm, asking. "May I have this dance, milady?"

I place the glass on the table next to his. "Yes, you may." I say as I take Peeta's arm.

The music gets louder as Peeta leads me away from the tables, and out onto the dance floor. We know only a few dances at home, the kind that go with a fiddle and a flute and require a good deal of space. But Effie has shown us some that are popular in the Capital. The music is dreamlike, so Peeta pulls me into his arm, our bodies touching form shoulder to hip, moving as one. I can feel the tension start to melt from my body, just from our bodies touching, and Peeta's gentle touch. We move in a circle with practically no steps. You could do this dance on a pie plate. We were quiet for a while, both of us glancing at the other momentarily. Then Peeta speaks in a strained voice.

"You go along, thinking you can deal with it, thinking they're not so bad, and then you-" He cuts himself off.

All I can think of is all the emaciated bodies of the children on our kitchen table as my mom prescribes for them what their parents can't give them. More food. Now that we're rich, she will send some home with them. But often in the old days, there was often nothing to give and the child was past saving, anyways. And here in the Capitol they're vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again. Not from some illness of body or mind, not from spoiled food. It's what everyone does at a party. It's expected. Part of the fun.

One day when I dropped by to give Hazelle the game, Vick was home with a really bad cough. Being part of Gale's family, the kid has to eat better than ninety percent of the rest of the District 12. But he still spent about fifteen minutes talking about how they opened a can of cream of corn from Parcel Day and each had a spoonful on bread and were going to have more maybe later in the week. How Hazelle had said that he could have a bit in his cup of tea to soothe his cough, but he said he didn't feel right if the others didn't get any. If it's like that at Gale's, what's it like at other houses?

"Peeta, they bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment." I say. A part of me realizes that Peeta is trying to humanize the situation. "Sadly, this is nothing by comparison."

"I know. I know. It's just sometimes I can't stand it anymore. To the point where… I'm not sure what I will do." He pauses, and then whispers. "Maybe we were wrong, Katniss." 

"About what?" I ask.

"About proving that you were still in love with me." Peeta says.

My head turns swiftly from side to side, but no one seems to have heard. The camera crew got sidetracked at the table of shellfish, and the couples around us are too drunk, or too self-involved to notice.

"Sorry." he says, and he should be. This is no place to be voicing such thoughts. I lean in close and whisper in his ear. "President Snow said that I failed anyways."

Peeta leans back and stares at me with a look of shock on his face. "Save it for home," I tell him.

Just then Portia appears with a large man that looks vaguely familiar. She introduces him as Plutarch Heavensbee, the new Head Gamemaker. Plutarch asks Peeta if he could steal me for a dance. I'm about to object, but Peeta recovers his camera face and good naturedly passes me over, warning the man not to get too attached.

I don't want to dance with Plutarch Heavensbee. I don't want him touching me, to feel one of his hands in mine, and the other on my hip. I'm not used to being touched except by Peeta and my family, and I rank Gamemakers somewhere beneath maggots in terms of creatures I want in contact with my skin. But he seems to sense this and keeps me at arm's length as we turn on the floor.

We chitchat about the party, about the entertainment, about the food, and then he makes a joke about avoiding punch since training. I don't get it at first, and then I realize that he's the man that tripped backwards into the punch bowl when I shot the arrow at the Gamemakers during the training session. Well, not really. I shot that apple out of their roast pig's mouth. But I made them jump.

"Oh, you're the one who-" I laugh, remembering him splashing back into the punch bowl.

"Yes. And you'll be pleased to know that I haven't recovered," says Plutarch.

I want to point out that twenty-two other tributes won't be recovering from the Games that he helped created, either. But I only say, "Good. So, you're the Head Gamemaker this year? That must be a big honor."

"Between you and me, there weren't many takers for the job," he says. "So much responsibility as to how the Games turn out."

 _Yeah, the last guy died,_ I think. He must know about Seneca Crane, but he doesn't seem the least bit concerned. "Are you planning the Quarter Quell Games already?" I ask.

"Oh, yes. Well, they've been in the works for years, of course. Arenas aren't built in a day. But the, shall we say, the flavor of the Games is being determined now. Believe it or not, I've got a strategy meeting tonight," he says.

Plutarch steps back and pulls out a gold watch on a chain from his vest pocket. He flips open the lip, sees the time, and frowns. "I'll have to get going soon." He turns the watch so I can see the face. "It starts at midnight."

"That seems late-" I say, but something distracts me. Plutarch runs his finger over the crystal face of the watch and just for a moment an image appears, glowing as if lit by candlelight. It's another mockingjay. Exactly like the pin on my dress. Only this one disappears. He snaps the watch close.

"That's very pretty," I say.

"Oh, it's more than pretty. It's a one of a kind," he says. "If anyone asks about me, say I've gone home to bed. The meetings are supposed to be kept secret. But I thought it would be safe to tell you."

"Yes. Your secret is safe with me." I say.

As we shake hands, he gives a small bow. A common gesture here in the Capitol. "Well, I'll see next summer at the Games, Katniss. Best wishes on your engagement, and good luck with your mother."

"I'll need it," I say.

Plutarch disappears and I wander through the crowd looking for Peeta, as strangers congratulate me. On my engagement, on my victory at the Games, on my choice of lipstick. I respond, but really I'm thinking of Plutarch's showing off his pretty one-of-a-kind watch to me. There was something strange about it. Almost clandestine. But why? Maybe somebody else will steal his idea of putting a disappearing mockingjay on a watch face. Yes, he probably paid a fortune for it, and now he can't show it off because he's afraid someone will make a cheap, knockoff version of it. Only in the Capitol.

I find Peeta admiring a table of elaborately decorated cakes, and I stop and watch my boyfriend in his element. Bakers have come in from the kitchen especially to talk frosting with him, and you can see them tripping over one another to answer his question. Needless to say I'm admiring, and laughing at the scene in front of me. At his request, they assemble an assortment of little cakes for him to take back to District 12 with him, where he can examine their work in peace.

"I think I might get a few cavities just form looking at all these sweets." I say, looking at the table of cakes.

"I can think of at least one treat I wouldn't mind getting a cavity from eating." Peeta says.

It takes me a few seconds to register what Peeta meant, and when it dawns on me my mouth almost hit the floor. _I'm his treat._ I think. I look at Peeta playfully as I was shaking my head at him, but I was biting my lower lip.

"Effie says that we had to be on the train at one. I wonder what time it is," he says, glancing around.

"Almost midnight," I reply. I pluck a chocolate flower off a cake and nibble on it, so beyond worrying about manners.

"Time to say thank you and farewell!" trills Effie at my elbow. It's one of those moments I love her compulsive punctuality. We collect Cinna and Portia, and she escorts us around to say good-bye to important people, then herds us to the door.

"Shouldn't we say good-bye to President Snow?" Peeta asks. _No._ I think. "It's his house."

"Oh, he's not a big one for parties. Too busy, says Effie. "I've arranged for the necessary notes and gifts to be sent to him tomorrow. There you are!" Effie gives a little wave to two Capitol attendants who have an inebriated Haymitch propped up between them.

"Man, Haymitch knows how to party even if it's not on his dime." I whisper, to which Peeta snickers.

We travel through the streets in a car with darkened windows. Behind us, another car brings the prep teams. The throngs of people celebrating are so thick its slow going. But Effie has this down to a science, and exactly at one o'clock we are back on the train and it's pulling out of the station.

Haymitch is deposited in his room. Cinna orders a tea and we all take seats around the table while Effie rattles her schedule papers and reminds us we're still on tour. "There's the Harvest Festival in District Twelve to think about. So I suggest we drink our tea and head straight to bed." Nobody argues.

When I open my eyes, it's early afternoon. My heads rest on Peeta's arm, and I'm reminded of that time in the arena when I used Peeta's arm as a pillow. I turn, careful not to wake him, but he's already awake. I kiss Peeta's lip passionately.

"No nightmares," he says.

"What?" I ask

"You didn't have any nightmares last night," he says.

"Peeta I haven't had any nightmares since we started dating. Although I did have a dream," I say thinking back. "I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean when, it sang, it had her voice."

"Where did she take you?" he says, brushing hair off my forehead.

"I don't know. We never arrived." I said. "But I felt happy."

"Well, you slept like you were happy," he says, leaning in for a kiss.

"Why because I didn't scowl?" I asked, after the kiss.

"There's that too." Peeta says, and I swat his arm while biting my lower lip, again. We lean in for another kiss when I realize something.

"Peeta, how come I never know when you're having a nightmare?" I say.

"I don't know. I don't think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror," he says.

"You should wake me," I say, thinking about how I used to interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it could take to calm me down.

"It's not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you," he says. "I'm okay once I realize you're still here."

Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhanded way, it's like being hit in the gut. He's only answering my questions honestly. But I still feel awful, as if I've been using him in some terrible way. Have I? No, not really. No more than Peeta has been using me to quell his own fears. All I know is that our sleeping arrangements would be viewed as immoral by other people, but I don't care. Peeta needs me as much as I need him.

"Be worse when we're home and I'm sleeping alone again," He says.

That's right, we're almost home.

"Maybe not." I say coyly.

"Oh." Peeta says.

"My mom did say that I shouldn't do anything she would do." I say raising my eyebrows on the word _would_. Peeta gives me a shocked looked, and then kisses me again.

The agenda for District 12 includes a dinner at Mayor Undersee's house tonight and a victory celebration during the Harvest Festival tomorrow. We always celebrate the Harvest Festival on the last day of the Victory Tour, but it usually means a meal at home or with a few friends if you can afford it. This year will be a public affair, and since the Capitol is springing for the festivities, the entire district will have full bellies.

Most of our prepping will take place at the mayor's house, since we're back to being cover in furs for outdoors appearances. We're only at the train station briefly, to smile and wave as we pile into our car. We don't even get to see our families until dinner the tonight.

I'm glad it will be at the mayor's house instead of the Justice Building, where the memorial for my dad was held, where they took me after the reaping for those wretched good-byes too my family. The Justice Building is too full of sadness.

But I like Mayor Undersee's house, especially now that his daughter, Madge, and I are friends. We always were, in a way. It became official when she came to say good-bye to me before I left for the Games. When she gave me the mockingjay pin for luck. After I got home, we starting spending time together. It turns out that Madge has plenty of empty hours to fill, too. It was a little awkward at first because we didn't know what to do. Most girls our age, I've heard them talking about boys, or other girls, or clothes. Madge and I aren't gossipy and clothes bore me to tears. But after a few false starts, I realized that she was dying to go into the woods, so I've taken her a couple of times and showed her how to shoot. She's trying to teach me the piano, but I mostly I like to listen to her play. Sometimes we eat at each other's houses. Madge likes mine better. Her parents seem nice but I don't think she sees them a whole lot. Her father has to runs District 12 and her mother gets fierce headaches that force her to stay in bed for days.

"Maybe you should take her to the Capitol," I said during one of them. We weren't playing piano that day, because even two floors away the sound causes her mother pain. "They could fix her up, I bet."

"Yes. But you don't go to the Capitol unless they invite you." Said Madge unhappily. Even the mayor's privileges are limited.

When we reach the mayor's house I only have enough time to give Madge a quick hug before Effie hustles me off to the third floor to get ready. After I'm prepped and dressed in a full-length silver gown, I've still got an hour before the dinner, so I slip off to find her.

Madge's bedroom is on the second floor along with several guest rooms and her father's study. I stick my head in the study to say to the mayor but it's empty. The television droning on, and I stop to watch shots of Peeta and me at the Capitol party last night. Dancing, eating, and kissing. This will be playing in every household in Panem right now. The audience must be sick to death of the star-crossed lovers from District 12. I know I am.

I'm leaving the room when a beeping noise catches my attention. I turn back to see the screen of the television go black. Then the words "UPDATE ON DISTRICT 8" starts flashing. Instinctively I know this isn't for my eyes but something intended only for the mayor. I should go. Quickly. Instead I find myself stepping closer to the television.

An announcer I've never seen before appears. It's a woman with graying hair and a hoarse, authoritative voice. She warns that conditions are worsening and a level 3 alert has been declared. Additional forces are being sent into District 8, and all textile production has ceased.

They cut away from the woman to the main square in District 8. I recognize it because I was just there last week. There are still banners with my face waving from the rooftops. Below them. There's a mob scene. The square's pack with screaming people, their faces hidden with rags and homemade masks, throwing bricks. Building burn. Peacekeepers shooting into the crowd killing at random.

I've never seen anything like it, but I can only be witnessing one thing. This is what President Snow calls an uprising.

 _So it begins._ I think.


	34. Chapter 34

_A/N- I writing to say thank you. Thank you to the fans who have been reading since day one, to those who have joined the adventure within the last month or so. I could have posted this chapter Sunday, but it seemed fitting to post it today, August 16, 2016, one year after I started writing to the story. So to those who have been reading since last year, keep the faith I have more twists coming. To those who have just joined the party, welcome aboard and prepare for the fun ahead._

A leather bag filled with food and a flask filled with hot tea. A pair of fur-line gloves that Cinna left behind. Three twigs, broken from a naked tree, lying in the snow, pointing in the direction I will travel. This is what I leave for Gale at our usual meeting place the first Sunday after the Harvest Festival.

I have to continue on through the cold, misty woods, breaking a path that will be unfamiliar to Gale but is simple for my feet to find. It leads to the lake. I can't trust that our usual rendezvous spot offers privacy, and I'll need that and more to spill my guts to Gale today. But will he come? If he doesn't, I'll have no choice but to go to his house in the dead of night. There are things he has to know… things I have to help him figure out…

Once the implications of what I was seeing on Mayor Undersee's television hit me, I made for the door, and started down the hall. Just in time, too, because the mayor was coming up the steps moments later. I gave him a wave.

"Looking for Madge?" he said in a friendly tone.

"Yes, I want to show her my dress," I said.

"Well, you know where to find her." Just then, another round of beeping came from his study. His face turned grave. "Excuse me." He said. He entered his study and closed the door tightly.

I waited in the hall until I composed myself. Reminded myself to act naturally. Then I found Madge in her room, sitting at her dressing table, brushing out her wavy blonde hair in front of the mirror. She was in the same pretty white dress she wore on reaping day. She saw my reflection behind her and smiled. "Look at you. Like you came right off the Capitol streets.

I stepped in closer. My fingers touched the mockingjay pin. "Even my pin now. Mockingjays are all the rage in the Capitol, thanks to you. Are you sure you don't want it back?" I asked.

"Don't be silly, it was a gift," Madge said. She tied back her hair in a festive gold ribbon.

"Where did you get it anyways?" I asked.

"It was my aunt's," she said. "But I think it's been in my family for a long time."

"It's a funny choice, a mockingjay," I say. "I mean because of what happened in the rebellion. With the Jabberjays backfiring on the Capitol."

"But mockingjays were never a weapon," said Madge. "They're just a songbirds. Right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I said.

Now, as I trudge through the snow, I see the mockingjays hopping about on the branches as the pick up on other bird's melodies, replicate them, and transform them into something new. As always, they remind me of Rue. I think of the dream I had the last night on the train, where I followed her in mockingjay form. I wish I could have stayed asleep just a little bit longer and found out where she was trying to take me.

It's a hike to the lake, no question. If he decides to follow me at all, Gale's going to be put out by this excessive use of energy that could be better spent in hunting. He was conspicuously absent from dinner at the mayor's house, although the rest of his family came. Hazelle said that he was home sick, which was an obvious lie. I couldn't find him at the Harvest Festival, either. Vick told me he was out hunting. That was probably true.

After a couple of hours, I reached an old house by the edge of the lake. Maybe "house" is too big a word for it. It's only one room, about twelve square feet. My dad thought a long time ago there were a lot of buildings – you can still see some of the foundations – and people came to them to play and fish in the lake. This house outlasted the others because it's made of concrete. Floor, roof, and ceiling. Only one of the four glass windows remains, yellowed by time. Theirs is no plumbing and electricity, but the fireplace still works and there's a woodpile in the corner that my dad and I gathered years ago. I start a small fire, counting on the mist to obscure any telltale of smoke. While the fire catches, I sweep out the snow that has accumulate under the empty windows, using the twig broom that my dad made me when I was about eight and I played house here. Then I sit on the tiny hearth, thawing out by the fire waiting for Gale.

It's a surprisingly short time before Gale decides to show. A bow slung over his shoulder, a dead wild turkey that he must have encountered along the way hanging from his belt. He stands in the doorway as if considering whether to enter or not. He holds the unopened bag of food, the flask, and Cinna's gloves. Gifts he will not accept because of his anger at me. Didn't I do the same thing to my mom?

I decide to jump right in and tell Gale why I dragged him all the way out here. Before he changes his minds and walks back out into the cold.

"President Snow personally threatened to have you killed," I said.

Gale slightly raised his eyebrows, more because I had gotten his attention than out of fear and astonishment. "Anyone else?"

"He didn't exactly give me a list, but I'm guessing both of our families," I say.

It's enough to bring him to the fire. He crouches before the hearth and warms himself. "Unless what?"

"Unless nothing, now," I say. Obviously this requires more of an explanation, but I have no idea where to start, so I just sit there staring gloomily at the fire.

After about a minute of this, Gale breaks the silence. "Well, thanks for the heads-up."

I turn to him ready to snap, but I see the glint in his eye. I hate myself for smiling. This is not a funny moment, but I guess it's a lot to drop on somebody. We're all going to be obliterate no matter what. "I do have a plan, sort of."

"Yeah, I bet it's a stunner," he says. He tosses the gloves on my lap. "Here, I don't I want your fiancés old gloves."

"You truly don't understand the mess I'm in. He's not my fiancé, not like this. And the gloves were Cinna's," I say.

"Give them back, then," he says. He pulls on the gloves, flexes his fingers, and nods approval. "At least I'll die in comfort."

"That's optimistic. Of course, you don't know what's happened," I say.

"Let's have it," he says.

I decide to begin the night that Peeta and I were crown victors of the Hunger Games, and Haymitch warned me of the Capitol's fury. I tell him about the uneasiness that has dogged me even once I was back home, President Snow's visit to my house, the murder in District 11 the tension in the crowds, the last ditch effort of the engagement, the president's indication that it hadn't been enough, my certainty that I'll have to pay.

Gale never interrupt. While I talk, he tucks the gloves in his pocket and occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, and placing chestnuts in the fire to roast I watched his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Capitol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. Hands that have the power to mine coal but the precision to set a delicate snare. Hands that I trust.

I pause to take a drink of tea from the flask before I tell him about my homecoming.

"Well, you really messed things up," he says.

"Oh, I'm just getting started," I tell him.

"I've heard enough for the moment. Let's skipped a head to this plan of yours," he says.

I take a deep breath because I know he won't go for this. "You have to get out. Take your family and go."

"What?" he asks. This actually caught him off guard.

"We find a place in the woods for you and your family to hide until this whole thing blows over." I say.

"Are you serious? Me runaway? I wouldn't do such a thing!" Gale says.

"You can stay, and run the risk of being kill." I say.

"They wouldn't do it." Gale says. _To an extent he's not wrong. His death would drive me into the open arms of those who opposed the Capitol's leadership._ I think.

"Gale, you don't have enough status in the district to send waves if you're killed." I say.

"I don't care." Gale says.

"I do!" I exclaim. Gale backs up a step.

"Why don't we run away together?" Gale says.

"And leave the district to clean up my mess, no thank you." I say

"If you're staying, I'm staying." He says shortly.

"Okay, but we can't give President Snow any more of an incentive to kill you." I say.

"And how do we do that?" he asks.

"Our Sundays are over. I won't risk your life to defy the Capitol. I need you behind me if we're going to do this." I said.

"And your boyfriend?" Gale asks, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"He and Haymitch are going to working right next to me to protect all of you." I say.

"What's does Peeta have that I don't?" Gale asks.

I stop and think about the question a moment before answering. "Nothing. You bother have you strengths, and weaknesses. I meant it when I said that I felt nothing for you. Are you attractive? Yes! I might not have feelings for you, but I'm not blind." I say.

"If we had different societal status, do you think I would have had a chance?" Gale asks.

"I don't have an answer for that because I never entertained the thought of being your girlfriend." I said.

"And Peeta?" he asks.

 _Why must he do this? Is he trying to widen the gap even more, or is he trying to me make see that I made a poor choice in lovers. I don't l know._ I think. "Peeta creeped up on me."

I watch as a funny thought entered Gale's mind. "What will you be doing when I leave?"

"Finishing what I started." I said.

"And you think I'm going to just let you fight my battles for me?" Gale asked.

"What?" I ask. The change in Gale's demeanor caught me off guard.

"If you think I'm going to let you fight this battle for me while I run and hide, you are out of your mind." Gale said.

"This isn't a battle, Gale. It's a war, and it's one we can't win. Not from here at least." I say.

"What's he going to do kill you? The Capitol would revolt, and depose him." Gale says.

 _Well they better take a number because District 8 has already kicked off the party._ I think. I don't dare to tell that to Gale because if I do he will lose his mind. "Gale we have to keep our heads down." I say.

"We have to fight, and you have to lead them." Gale says.

"Gale that is suicide and you know it. We don't have the resources for what you're talking about." I say.

 _How did this get out of hand?_ I think. I came here to talk Gale into leaving, and now he wants to hold his own rebellion and he wants me to lead the whole thing. If he saw what Peeta and I saw he would be beside himself that I'm not with him.

"Katniss, you beat the system. What are you afraid of?" he asks.

"President Snow's retribution." I say shortly. "Gale we need an army. We need guns. We need resources. All of those we don't have."

"What you are proposing? That we continue to live life as we know it?" he asks.

"It's safer option, and it keeps this place from being slaughtered by peacekeepers." I say.

"Safe to do what?" He says in a gentler tone. "Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? There's already been talk in the mines. People who want to fight. They need a leader to guide them," he said.

"Gale if we fight back without a surefire plan, they'll slaughter us. The Capitol will send backup, and they'll do whatever is necessary to reign us in." I say.

"If that's what it takes, so be it." Gale says.

I feel like I'm on the Victory Tour again, trying to appease the people by showing my love for Peeta, but I know this is a losing battle and a much worse one than the tour. Why do I get the feeling that the more I tell Gale that we shouldn't fight, the more he thinks I'm siding with the Capitol?

"I, in good conscience, can't back the uprising, or lead it." I said evenly.

Gale shakes his head, not hiding his disgust with me. "You could do so much." He throws Cinna's gloves at my feet. "I changed my mind. I don't want anything they made in the Capitol." And he's gone.

I look down at the gloves. Anything they made in Capitol? Was that directed at me? Does he think I am now another product of the Capitol and therefore something untouchable? The unfairness of it all fills me with rage. But it's mixed up with fear over what kind of crazy thing he might do next.

I sink down next to the fire, desperate for comfort, to work out my next move. I calm myself by thinking that rebellions don't happen in a day. Gale can't talk to the miners until tomorrow. If I can get to Hazelle before then, she might be able to straighten him out. But I can't go now. If he's there, he'll lock me out. Maybe tonight, after everyone's asleep… Hazelle often works late into the night finishing up laundry. I could go then, tap at the window, and tell her the situation so she'll keep Gale from doing anything foolish.

My conversation with President Snow in the study comes back to me.

" _My advisors were concerned that you would be difficult, but you're not planning to be difficult at all, are you?_ "

" _No._ "

" _That's what I told them. I said any girl who goes to such lengths to preserve her life isn't going to be interested in throwing it away with both hands._ "

I think of how hard Hazelle has worked to keep that family alive. Surely she'll be on my side in this matter. Or she won't. It must be getting on towards noon now and the days are so short. No point being in the woods after dark if you don't have to. I stamp out the remains of my little fire, clear up the scrap food, and tuck Cinna's gloves in my belt. I guess I'll hang onto them for a while. In case Gale has a change of heart. _Not likely._ I think, as I remember the look on his face when he flung them on the ground. He was repelled by them, by me…

I trudge through the woods and reach my old house while there is still light. My conversation with Gale was an obvious setback, but I'm determined to keep the rest of the district safe from any backlash by the Capitol. I decide to find Peeta next. I promised to keep him in the loop when it comes to making decisions. Haymitch will be informed of the plan later. Haymitch, like Peeta, can operate on the fly, anyways. I run into him as he's leaving the Victor's Village.

"Been hunting?" You can see he thinks doesn't think it's a good idea.

"Shockingly, no." I say, and Peeta raises his eyebrows. "Going to town?"

"Yes. I'm supposed to eat dinner with my family," he says.

"Well I can at least walk you in." The road between the Victor's Village and the square gets little use. It's safe enough place to talk. I stop, and I pull Peeta in for a kiss. After we break the kiss, I take a breath and let the words rush out. "It has begun, Peeta."

"If you're here to deliver bad news, you can deliver it like that, whenever." Peeta jokes, and I lean my forehead into his shoulder laughing at his joke. "When did it begin, and which district?"

"I'm not sure when it began, but when we were at the mayor's house last week I saw, on the television, that District 8 was rioting." I say.

"What's the plan? Stay and fight, or run and hide?" he asks.

"It's not going to be a direct fight against the peacekeepers, I saw them gunning down the district citizens indiscriminately." I say.

"You just came from telling Gale he had to get out didn't you. How did that go?" he asks.

"Not good. Gale has other plans." I say.

"So do we run-" Peeta begins.

"No! I won't let the district suffer because of me." I say, cutting him off.

"Well, we better tell Haymitch. Inform him of the development." He raises his head. "What's that?"

I left my chin. I've been consumed by what I'm supposed to do next, I haven't noticed the strange noise coming from the square. A whistling, the sound of impact, the intake of breath from the crowd.

Come on," Peeta says, his face suddenly hard. I don't know why. I can't place the sound, or the situation. But it means something bad to him.

When we reach the square, it's clear something's happening, but the crowd is too thick to see. Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of a sweatshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I'm halfway up when he blocks my view. "Get down. Get out of here!" He's whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence.

"What?" I say, trying to force my way back up.

"Go home, Katniss! I'll be there in a minute, I swear!" he says.

Whatever it is, it's terrible. I yank away from his hand, and begin to push myself through the crowd. People see, recognize my face, and then looked panic. Voices hiss.

"Get out of here, girl."

"You'll only make it worse."

"What do you want to do? Get him killed?"

At this time, my heart is beating so fast and fierce I hardly hear them. I only know that whatever waits in the square is meant for me. When I finally break through to the cleared space, I see I am right. That Peeta is right. And those voices were right.

Gale's wrists are bound to a wooden post. The wild turkey he killed earlier hangs above him, the nail driven through its neck. His jacket has been cast aside on the ground, his shirt torn away. He slumps on unconscious on his knees, held up only by the ropes at his wrist. What used to be his back is a raw, bloody slab of meat.

Standing behind him is a man I've never seen before, but I recognize his uniform. It's the one designated for the Head Peacekeeper. This isn't old Cray, though. This is a tall, muscular man with sharp crease in his pants.

The pieces of the picture don't quite come together until I see his arm raise the whip.


	35. Chapter 35

"No!" I cry, and spring forward. It's too late to stop the arm from descending, and I know I won't have the power to block it. So I throw myself directly between the whip and Gale. I've flung out my arms to protect as much of the broken body as possible, so there's nothing to deflect the lash. I take the full force of it across the left side of my face.

The pain is blinding and instantaneous. Jagged flashes of light cross my vision and I fall to my knees. One hand cups my cheek while the other keeps me from tipping over. I can already feel the welt rising up, and the eye swelling shut. The stones beneath me are slick with Gale's blood, the air heavy with its scent. "Stop it! You'll kill him!" I shriek.

I get a glimpse of my assailant's face. Hard with deep lines, a cruel mouth. Gray hair shaved to nonexistence, eyes so black they seem all pupils. A long, straight, nose redden by the freezing air. The powerful arm lifts again, his sights on me. I kneel there staring the man down, defiantly. I grit my teeth in anticipation of the next blow.

"Hold it!" a voice barks. Haymitch appears and trips over a Peacekeeper lying on the ground. It's Daruis. A huge purple lump pushes through the hair on his forehead. He's knocked out, but still breathing. What happened? Did he try to come to Gale's aid before I got here?

Haymitch ignores him, and pulls me to my feet roughly. "Oh, excellent." his hand locks under my chin, lifting it. "She's got a photo shoot next week modeling wedding dresses. What am I supposed to tell her stylist?" I see a flicker of recognition in the eyes of the man with the whip. Bundled against the cold, my face free of makeup, my braid tucked carelessly under my coat, it wouldn't be easy to identify my as the victor of the last Hunger Games. Especially with half my face swelling up. But Haymitch has been showing up on television for years, and he be difficult to forget.

The man rest the whip on his hip. "She interrupted the punishment of a confessed criminal."

Everything about this man, his commanding voice, his odd accent, warns of an unknown and dangerous threat. Where has he come from? District 11? 3? From the Capitol itself?

"I don't care if she blew up the blasted Justice Building! Look at her cheek! Think that will be camera ready in a week?" Haymitch snarls.

The man's voice is still cold, but I can detect a slight edge of doubt. "That's not my problem."

"No? Well, it's about to be, my friend. The first I call I make when I get home is to the Capitol," says Haymitch. "Find out who authorized you to mess my victor's pretty little face!"

"He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?" says the man.

"He's her cousin." Peeta says grabbing my other arm now, but gently. "And she's my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through the both of us."

 _This is it._ I think. I watch as the crowd stands there and watches the standoff between Haymitch, Peeta and myself and the Capitol. I'm not sure where this man came from, but he's definitely doing President Snow's bidding. This stand is only temporary, the repercussions will be swift and severe, but all I'm worried about at the moment is keeping Gale alive. The new Head Peacekeeper glances over at backup squad. With relief, I see they're familiar faces, old friends from the Hob. You can tell by their expressions, they're not enjoying the show.

One woman, named Purina who eat at Greasy Sae's regularly, steps forward stiffly. "I believe, for the first offense, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we carry out by firing squad."

"Is that the standard protocol here?" asks the Head Peacekeeper.

"Yes, sir," Purina says, and several others nod their agreement. It would be comical, if half my face wasn't swollen and Gale's back had been filleted like a piece of meat, because I'm almost certain they don't know the protocol because, in the Hob, the standard protocol for someone showing up with a wild turkey is for everybody to bet on the drumsticks.

"Very well. Get your cousin out of here, then, girl. And when he comes to, remind him that the next time he poaches off the Capitol's land, I'll assemble that firing squad, personally." The Head Peacekeeper says, as he wipes his hand along the length of the whip, splattering us with blood. Then he coils it into quick, neat loops and walks off.

Most of the other Peacekeepers fall into awkward formation behind him. A small group stays behind and hoists Daruis up by the arms and legs. I catch Purina's eye before and mouth the word "Thanks." Before she leaves. She doesn't respond, but I'm sure she understands.

"Gale." I turn, my hands fumbling at the knots binding his wrists. Someone passes forward a knife and Peeta cuts the ropes. Gale collapses to the ground.

"Better get him to your mother," says Haymitch.

There's no stretcher, but the old woman at the clothing stall sells us the board that serves as her countertop. "Just don't tell her where you got it," she says packing up the rest of her goods quickly. Most of the square has emptied, fear getting the better of compassion. But after what's just happened, I can't blame them.

By the time we've laid Gale face down on the board there's only a hand full of people left to carry him. Haymitch, Peeta, a couple of miners who work the same crew as Gale lift him up.

Leevy, a girl who lives a few house down from mine in the Seam, takes my arm. My mother kept her little brother alive last year when he caught the measles. "Need help getting back?" Her gray eyes are scared but determined.

"No, but can you get Hazelle? Send her over?" I ask.

"Yeah," says Leevy, turning on her heel.

"Leevy!" I say. "Don't let her bring the kid."

"No. I'll stay with them myself," she says.

"Thanks." I grab Gale's jacket and hurry after the others.

"Get some snow on that," Haymitch orders over his shoulder. I scoop up a handful of snow and press it against my cheek, numbing the pain a bit. My left eye's tearing heavily now, and in the fading light it's all I can do to follow the boots in front of me.

As we walk I hear Bristel and Thom, Gale's crewmates, piece together the story of what happened. Gale must've gone to Cray's house, as he did hundreds of times before, knowing that Cray pays well for the wild turkey. Instead he found the new Head Peacekeeper, a man named Romulus Thread. No one knows what happened to Cray. He was buying white liquor in the Hob just this morning, apparently still in control of the district, but he's nowhere to be found. Thread put Gale under immediate arrest and, of course, since he standing was there holding a dead turkey, there was little Gale could say in his own defense. Word of his predicament spread quickly. He was brought to the square, forced to plead guilty to his crime, and sentence to a whipping to be carried out immediately. By the time I showed up, he had been lashed at least forty times. He pass out around thirty.

"Lucky he only had the turkey on him," says Bristel. "If he had his usual haul, would've been much worse."

"He told Thread he found it wandering around the Seam. Said it got over the fence, and he stabbed it with a stick. Still a crime. But if they'd known that he was in the woods with weapons, they'd killed him for sure," says Thom.

"What about Darius?" Peeta asks.

"After about twenty lashes, he stepped in, saying that was enough. Only he didn't do it smart and official like Purina did. He grabbed Thread's arm and Thread hit him in the head with the butt of the whip. Nothing good waiting for him," says Bristel.

"Doesn't sound like much good for any of us," says Haymitch.

Snow begins, thick and wet, making visibility even more difficult. I stumble up the walk to my house behind the others using my ears more than my eyes to guide me. A golden light colors the snow as the door opens. My mom, who was no doubt waiting for me after a long day of unexplained absence, takes in the scene.

"New Head," Haymitch says, and she gives him a curt nod as if no other explanation is needed.

I'm in awe, as I am always, as I watch my mom transform from a woman who calls me to kill a spider to a woman immune to fear. When a sick or dying person is brought to her… this is the only time I think my mom knows who she is. In moments, the long kitchen table has been cleared, a sterile white cloth has been spread across it, and Gale hoisted onto it.

My mom pours water from a kettle into a basin while ordering Prim to pull a series of her remedies from the medicine cabinet. Dried herbs, tinctures and store bought bottles. I watch her hands, the long, tapered fingers crumble this, then adding drops of that, into the basin. Soaking a cloth in the hot liquid as she give Prim instructions to prepare a second brew.

My mom glances my way. "Did it cut you eye?"

"No, it's just swelled shut," I say.

"Get more snow on it," she instructs. I'm clearly not a priority.

"Can you save him?" I ask my mom. She says nothing as she wrings out a cloth and holds it in the air to cool somewhat.

"Don't worry," says Haymitch. "Used to be a lot more whippings before Cray. She's the one we took them to."

I can't remember a time before Cray, a time when there was a Head Peacekeeper who used the whip freely. But my mom must have been around my age and still working at the apothecary shop with her parents. Even back then, she must have had healer's hands.

Ever so gently, she begins to clean the mutilated flesh on Gale's back. I feel sick to my stomach, useless, the remaining snow dripping from my glove into a puddle on the floor. Peeta puts me in a chair and holds a cloth filled with fresh snow to my cheek.

Haymitch tells Bristel and Thom to get home, and I see him press coins into their hands before they leave. "Don't know what will happen with your crew." he says. They nod and accept the money.

Hazelle arrived, breathless and flushed, fresh snow in her hair. Wordlessly, she sits on a stool next to the table, takes Gale's hand, and holds it against her lips. My mom doesn't even acknowledge her. She's gone into that special zone that includes only herself and the patient and occasionally Prim. The rest of us can wait.

Even in her expert hands, it takes time to clean the wounds, arrange what shredded skin can be saved, apply a salve and a light bandage. As the blood clears, I can see where ever stroke of the lash landed and feel it resonate in the single cut on my face. I multiply my own pain once, twice, forty times and pray that Gale remains unconscious. Of course, that's too much to ask for. As the final bandages are placed, a moan escapes his lips. Hazelle strokes his hair and whispers something while my mother and Prim go through their meager store of painkillers, the kind usually accessible to doctors. They are hard to come by, expensive, and always in demand. My mom has to save the strongest for the worst pain, but what is the worst pain? To me, it is always the pain that present. If I was in charge, those painkillers would be gone in a day because I have so little ability to watch suffering. My mom tries to save those who are in the process of dying, to ease them out of this world.

Since Gale is regaining consciousness, they decide on an herbal remedy he can take by mouth. "That won't be enough." I say. They both stare at me. "That won't be enough, I know how it feels. That will barely knockout a headache."

"We'll combine it with sleep syrup, Katniss, and he'll manage. The herbs are more for inflammations…" my mom begins calmly.

"I understand that, but the pain is going to be too great. Please, I'll pay to replace your stores if that's what you're worried about. I know what you usually save the painkillers for, but Gale is going to need something a little stronger. I'll help if I need to, just, please." I plead with my mom.

Gale begins to stir at my voice, trying to reach me. The movement causes fresh blood to stain the bandages and an agonizing sound came from his mouth.

My mom hesitates, but nods. I feel a wave of relief wash over me, I want to hug her, but I don't want to make her job harder, so instead I exit the kitchen and make for one of the spare bedrooms to lie down. Peeta and Haymitch follow me out, but stop outside the bedroom door. Peeta whispers to Haymitch about President Snow, about the uprising in District 8. "She plans to stand and fight them, indirectly so to speak." Peeta says.

"How do you plan to do that?" Haymitch asks, entering the room.

"Like we did today." I said.

"It's going to take more than that." Haymitch says.

"They won't gun down a victor." I said.

"Gun down?" Haymitch asks.

"I saw them indiscriminately shooting the citizens in District 8." I say.

It was at this time my mom came in to tend to my face. "Thanks." I said. She didn't say anything, just nodded her head. She holds my hand, and strokes my arm, while Haymitch fills her in on what happened to Gale.

"So it's starting again?" she says. "Like before?"

"By the looks of it," he answers. "Who'd of thought we'd be sorry to see old Cray go?"

Cray would have disliked, anyways, because of the uniform, but it was his habit of luring young and starving women into his bed for money that made him an object of loathing in the district. In real bad times, the hungriest would gather at his door at nightfall, vying for the chance to earn a few coins to feed their families by selling their bodies. Had I been older when my father died I might have been among them, Instead I learned to hunt.

I don't know exactly what my mom means by things starting again, but I'm too angry and hurting to ask. Its register, though, the idea of worse times returning though because when the doorbell rings, I shoot straight out of bed. Who could it be at this hour of the night? There's only one answer. Peacekeeper.

"They can't have him." I say.

"Might be after you." Haymitch reminds me.

"Or you." I say.

"Not my house," Haymitch points out. "I'll get the door."

"No, I'll get it," my mom says quickly.

We all follow her to the door, and to an insistent ringing bell. When she opens it, there's not a squad of Peacekeepers but a single, snow-caked figure. Madge. She holds out a small, damp cardboard box to me.

"Use these for your friend," she says. I take the lid off the box, revealing a half a dozen vials of clear liquid. "They're my mothers. She said I could take them. Use them, please." She runs back into the storm before we could stop her. _Then again if the daughter of the mayor was caught giving aid to a convicted criminal it would definitely look bad._ I think.

"Crazy girl," Haymitch mutters as we follow my mom back into the kitchen.

Whatever my mom had given Gale, I was right, it wasn't enough. His teeth are gritted, and his skin glistens with sweat. My mom fills a syringe with the clear liquid from one of the vials and shoots it into his arm. Almost immediately his face begins to relax.

"What is that stuff?" Peeta asks.

"It's from the Capitol. It's called morphling," my mom answers.

"I didn't know that Gale even knew Madge," says Peeta.

"We use to sell her strawberries." I say, a question dogging my thoughts.

"She must have quite the taste for them," says Haymitch.

I'm wondering about that myself. Did Gale and Madge start seeing each other while I was in the Capitol, either as a contestant or as a victor? It's plausible, but I think it's unlikely. I think of Madge's disposition with her family and it wouldn't be hard to understand why she would take an interest in Gale, but then last interaction that the three of us. I hurried Madge up with buying our strawberries before she and Gale got into an argument all because she said that she hopes that she doesn't go to the Capitol. If it wasn't for Peeta, I might be a little upset by the implications that were flying around about Gale and Madge.

"She's our friend," is all I say.

Now that Gale has drifted away on painkillers, everyone seems to deflate. Prim makes us each eat some stew and bread. A room is offered to Hazelle, but she has to go home to the other kids. Haymitch and Peeta are both willing to stay, but my mom sends them home as well. She knows that it's pointless to try this with me and leaves me to tend to Gale while she and Prim get some rest.

Alone in the kitchen with Gale, I sit on Hazelle's stool, and watch over Gale. As if I'm taking first watch, like I was in the cave with Peeta. I look at Gale's facial features, and I can see why Madge would be attracted to Gale. Heavy, dark eyebrows, the curve of his cheek, the line of his nose, the hollow at the base of his neck. I trace the outline of stubble on his jaw with my eyes, and then I stop before I get to his lips, my conscious getting the better of me. Gale is attractive, definitely, I'm dating Peeta not dead, but I get the feeling that in the days to come that we're not going to see eye to on critical issues. Issues that will be huge to me, ones that Gale will see as insignificant. I notice how young Gale looks as he sleeps.

Does everyone look younger asleep? Peeta look younger too, and at death's door, when I can back with the medicine for his infection. I think, for a moment, what would have happened had the situation had been reversed. That some other girl had been reaped instead of Prim, and Gale had volunteered for Rory. Our lives being ripped apart. I don't know if Gale would have fallen for that woman, like I did with Peeta. I'm almost certain he would have volunteered to lead any uprising if he got wind of it. I don't know if I could follow Gale if he went down that path. That is a path I'm not willing to traverse.

"Hey, Catnip." Gale says, through a haze of opiates.

"Hey, Gale." I say, gently.

"Sorry for getting you involved." Gale says.

"I was already involved. Not only that, who else was going to come to your aid?" I ask.

"True enough." Gale says.

"Just promise you won't try anything suicidal in the near future?" I ask.

"Okay." Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.


	36. Chapter 36

Someone gives my shoulder a shake and it startles me awake. I've fallen asleep with my head leaning against the wall. The cheek that Thread had damaged, throbs painfully. Gale's dead to the world, but his hand that is closes to me, dangles in midair. I see Peeta standing in front of me, and I can smell fresh bread, which I smelled faintly before he woke me up. Peeta has a silly expression on his face, which had turned into a smile. I think of all the ways I could kiss that smile off his face, and then I remember that I could. I reach for Peeta's neck, and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss. Which turn into a mini make out session.

"What was that for?" Peeta asks, with a bewildered look on his face.

"Do I have to have a reason to kiss my boyfriend?" I asked coyly, with a smile to match.

"Touché. Why don't you head on up to bed, Katniss. I'll look after him for a while," he says.

"Thanks for following my lead yesterday." I said.

"Even though you could have gotten us killed, you're welcomed." Peeta says, playfully.

I swat Peeta's arm, kiss his cheek lightly, and then leave the kitchen. Before leaving I could see the loaves of bread on the counter in the pale, snowy morning light. Peeta was chipper this morning. He must have gotten plenty of rest last night, which I couldn't say the same for myself as I stretch my stiff neck.

I feel my way up the stairs, crawl under the covers, and fall asleep at once. At some point, Clove, the girl from District 2, enters my dreams. She chases me, pins me to the ground, and pulls out a knife to cut my face. It digs deeply into my cheek, opening a wide gash. Then Clove begins to transform, her face elongating to a snout, dark fur sprouting from her skin, her fingernails growing into long claws, her eyes remain unchanged. She becomes the muttation form of herself, the wolf like creation of the Capitol that terrorized us the last night in the arena. Tossing her head back, she lets out a long, eerie howl that is picked up other by mutts nearby. Clove begins to lap the blood flowing from my wound, each lick sending a new wave of pain through my face. I give a strangle cry and wake with a start, sweating and shivering at once. Cradling my damaged cheek in my hand, I have to remind myself that it was not Clove but Thread. I wish that Peeta were here to hold me, but I know Gale needs the extra pair eyes more than I do.

The swelling around my eye has gone down and I can open it a bit. I push aside the curtain and see the snowstorm has strengthened to full-out blizzard. There's nothing but whiteness and the howling wind that sounds remarkably like the muttations.

I welcome the blizzard, with its ferocious winds and the deep, drifting snow. This may be enough to keep the real wolves at bay, also known as the Peacekeepers. A few days to think. To work out a plan. With Peeta and Haymitch at hand. This blizzard is a gift.

Before I go down to face this new paradigm, I take a moment to make myself acknowledge what I'm about to do. To put it bluntly, I'm embracing rebellion, I'm not leading the country towards rebelling against the Capitol. _Is this the life I was destined to live after I became a victor, or was it one of slavery?_ I think. Whatever it is, I'm going to have plenty of time to think on it over the course of the next few months. I was about to contemplate what the Capitol could possible do to me as retribution for my actions, and then something hit me. If the victors were to rise up and lead the rebellion, would they change the rules, and reap us instead of the crowd? The repercussions of the course of action I'm about to pursue will be far great than what I had original planned, but not everything action the Capitol takes, will have an appropriate counter for me to take. _Here's hoping._ I think.

I get out of bed, and go take a shower. As I'm taking my shower, I try to figure out how they organized that uprising in District 8. So many, so clearly acting in defiance of the Capitol. Was it even planned, or something that simply erupted after years of hatred and resentment? I need to figure it out, so I can avoid it from happening here. I need to keep it from happening here, to keep the Peacekeepers from firing on the crowds. I tremble at the memory of so many be killed indiscriminately. Would the people of District 12 revolt, or would they just lock their doors? Yesterday the square emptied quickly after Gale was whipped. It's sort of disheartening that there were very few who stayed behind to help Gale, but there's no use worrying about that now.

I know that Peeta could keep the crowd at bay with his words, but this is my fight. I caused the rebellion, and I'm going to keep it at bay until necessary. President Snow's words echo in my head again. _Prove to me that you still love him._ I'm almost in tears when I think of what President Snow might do if he got his hands on Peeta.

Downstairs, I find my mother and Prim tending to a subdued Gale. The medicine must be wearing off, by the look on Gale's face. I don't want to make my mom's job harder by challenging her again, but I guess I'm just looking out for my friend. "You're going to give him another shot if necessary?" I ask.

"If necessary. We thought we try another snow coat first," says my mom. She has removed his bandages. You can practically see the heat radiating off his skin. She lays a clean cloth across his angry skin and nods to Prim.

Prim comes over, she appears to be stirring what appears to be a large bowl of snow. But it's tinted a light green, and it gives off a sweet, clean scent. Snow coat. She begins to ladle the stuff onto the cloth. I can almost hear the sizzle of Gale's tormented skin meeting the snow mixture. His eyes flutter open, perplexed, and then he lets out a sigh of relief.

"It's lucky we have snow," says my mom.

I think of what it must be like to recover from a whipping in midsummer, with the searing heat and the tepid water from the tap. "What did you do in the warm months?" I ask.

A crease appears between my mom's eyebrows as she frowns. "Try to keep the flies away."

My stomach turns at the thought, and I'm probably sure face had a look of revulsion on it, to which my mom laughed. She fills a handkerchief with the snow-coat mixture and I hold it to the weal on my face. Instantly the pain withdraws. It's the coldness of the snow, yes, but whatever of herbal juices my mom has added numbs as well. "Oh, that's wonderful. Why didn't you use this last night?"

"I needed to set the wound first," she says, with a chuckle.

I don't know exactly what that means, but as long as it works, who am I to question her? She knows what she's doing, my mom. I feel a pang of remorse about yesterday, for challenging her decision. Although I kept my cool, who am I to tell her what course of action she should take. "I'm sorry. About challenging you yesterday."

"I've had, and heard worse," she says. "You've seen how people are, when some they love is in pain."

Someone they love. No matter what I feel for Gale or what people think, Gale could never replace Peeta. I know that I've spent more time with Gale, but I owe Peeta too much. _Peeta doesn't care that I owe him, he's just happy to have me in his life. Maybe I should look past the debts, and just enjoy having him in my life._ I think. I give my head a shake to clear it because I know what Peeta can do to me. "Where's Peeta?" I say.

"He went home when he heard you stirring. Didn't want to leave his house unattended during the storm," says my mom.

"Did he get back all right?" I ask. In a blizzard, you could get lost in a matter of yards and wander off into oblivion.

"Why don't you call him and check?" she says.

There must have been something in my demeanor for my mom to say that I should call him, which I'm going to go do now. I go into the study, which I have all but avoided entering since my meeting with President Snow, and dial Peeta's number. After a few rings he answers.

"Hey, just checking to make sure you got home safely." I say.

"Katniss, I live three house down from you." Peeta says, annoyed that I would waste the time to call and check in on him.

"Humor me." I say.

"Well, I'm fine, thanks for checking." Peeta says, chuckling. He asks the next question as if it's normal for a person to be recovering in my house. "How's Gale?"

"He's alright. He's in the competent hands of my mom and Prim." I say.

"I made it out alive. Even with a little help from the Capitol." Peeta says quickly. "How's you face?"

"My face is going to need some time, but I have a snow coat on it. Hey. Have you seen Haymitch today?" I ask.

"I checked in on him. He's drunk and dead to the world, but I built up his fire and left him some bread," he says.

"Somethings never change." I say.

"That they do. Did you have a reason for calling, or are you just missing your boyfriend?" Peeta tease.

"Yes I do miss my boyfriend. And yes I did have another reason for calling, but it's going to have to wait until the storm passes." I say.

"Sensitive information?" Peeta asks.

"Pretty much, and I want to discuss it with Haymitch, too." I say.

"As you said, nothing is going to happen until the storm passes. Keep yourself busy, and out of your mom and Prims way." he says.

"If it wasn't storming, I can think of a few things to keep myself busy, and a person to do it with." I say coyly.

I hear Peeta sputter before I hang up the phone. _Yes!_ I think. I got Peeta back for that "treat" remark he made back in the Capitol almost a month ago.

It takes two days for the storm to blow itself out, leaving us with drifts higher than my head. Another day before the path is cleared from the Victor's Village to the square. During this time I help tend to Gale, apply another snow coat to my cheek, and try to remember everything I can about the uprising in District 8, in case it could help us. The swelling in my face goes down, leaving me with an itchy, healing wound and a very black eye. But still, the first chance I get I call Peeta.

We rouse Haymitch, and drag him along with us.

"Nice shiner, sweetheart." Haymitch says.

"Ha, ha." I say, sarcastically.

Haymitch complains about us taking him along, but not much as usual. We all know we need to discuss what happened and it can't anywhere as dangerous as our own homes in the Victor's Village. In fact, we wait until the village is well behind us to even speak. I spend the time studying the ten-foot walls of snow piled up on either side of the narrow path that has been cleared, wondering if they will collapse on us.

Finally Haymitch breaks the silence. "Got any new ideas on how to make that stand yet?"

"Sort of, but I have a question to ask first." I say.

"Shoot." Haymitch says, fixing me with a questioning glance.

"What would it take to for an uprising to begin?" I ask.

"What?" Peeta asks.

"Are you serious? I thought you were talking about a nonviolent stand?" Haymitch asked.

"I'm going to take a nonviolent stand." I say. "Three days ago, before Gale was caught by Thread, he mentioned that there was talk amongst the miners about staging their own uprising. I would have told you that had you not have interrupted me." I say, annoyed.

Peeta just shrugs, and looks at Haymitch. "Oops." Haymitch says. "Well if the miners had any brains they wouldn't try anything, seeing as the new Head Peacekeeper isn't afraid to use the whip. So, I think it's safe to say we have some breathing room for the time being."

We fall silent as a group of men with shovels passes us, headed out to Victor's Village. Maybe they can do something about those ten-foot walls. And by the time they're out of earshot, the square is too close. We step into it, and we all come to a stop simultaneously.

I thought that with the blizzard that nothing was going to get done. _I was so wrong!_ I thought. The square has been transformed. A huge banner with the seal of Panem hangs off the roof of the Justice Building. Peacekeepers, in pristine white uniforms, marches on the cleanly swept cobblestones. Along the rooftops, more of them occupy nest of machine guns. Most unnerving is a line of new constructions – an official whipping post, several stockades, and a gallows – are set up in the center of the square.

"Thread's a quick worker," says Haymitch.

Peeta lets out a whistle.

"That's putting it mildly." Haymitch says.

"Clearly." I say.

Some streets away from the square, I see a blaze flare up. None of us has to say it. That can only be the Hob going up in smoke. I think of Greasy Sae, Ripper, all my friends who make a living there.

"Haymitch, you don't thing everyone was still in –" I can't finish the sentence.

"Nah, they're smarter than that. You'd be, too, if you'd been around longer. Well I better go, see how much rubbing alcohol the apothecary can spare."

He trudges off across the square and I look at Peeta. "What's he want that for?" And then I realize the answer. "We can't let him drink it. He'll kill himself, or at the very least go blind. I've got some white liquor put away at home."

"So do I. Maybe that will hold him until Ripper gets back on her feet," says Peeta. "I need to check on my family."

"I have to go see Hazelle." I'm worried now. I thought she'd be on our doorstep the moment the snow was cleared. But there's been no sign of her.

"I'll go too. Drop by the bakery on the way home," he says.

"Thank." I say rubbing Peeta's arm gently. I suddenly very scared at what I might find.

The streets are almost deserted, which would not be unusually at this time of day if people were in the mines, or the kids in school. But they're not. I see faces peeking at us out of doorways, though cracks in shutters.

 _An uprising._ I think. _That's a good one._ There's an inherent flaw in starting an uprising that I have over looked. An uprising requires breaking the law, thwarting authority. Gale and I have done that our whole lives, our families have too. Poaching, trading on the black market, mocking the Capitol in the woods. But for most people in District 12, a trip to buy something at the Hob would be too risky. And I half expected them to assemble in the square with bricks and torches. Even the sight of Peeta and me is enough to make people pull their children away from the windows, and draw the curtains tightly. _At least we've got our work cut out for us._ I think.

We find Hazelle in her house, nursing a very sick Posy. I recognize the measles spots. "I couldn't leave her," she says. "I knew Gale would be in the best hands possible."

"Of course," I say. "He's much better. My mom says he will be back in the mines in a few weeks."

"May not be open until then, anyways," Hazelle says. "Word is it's closed until further notice." She gives a nervous glance at her empty wash tub.

"You closed, too?" I ask.

"Not officially," says Hazelle. "But everyone's afraid to use me now."

"Maybe it's the snow." Peeta says.

"No, Rory made a quick round this morning. Nothing to wash, apparently," she says.

Rory wraps his arms around Hazelle. "We'll be alright."

I take a handful of money from my pocket and lay it on the table. "My mom will send something for Posy."

When we're outside, I turn to Peeta. "I'm going to the Hob. You can come along, or head back if you want." I tell Peeta. I want him to have a choice, but I want him to stay with me. I feel safer whenever he's close to me.

"I'll go with you. " Peeta says, and I can't stop the smile that graces me face. Peeta returns my smile and grabs my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building. They haven't bothered to leave Peacekeepers around it. They know no one will try to save it.

The heat from the flames melts the surrounding snow and a black trickle runs across my shoes. "It's all that coal dust, from the old days." I say. It was in every crack and crevice. Ground into the floorboards. It's amazing the place didn't go up before. I get the feeling that I'm still being watch, and seeing any of the vendors from the Hob isn't going to help them.

"Let's head back." I say.

"Okay." Peeta says.

We head back to the square, stopping by the bakery. Peeta wanted to check in on his family. While we're there, I by a couple of cakes from Peeta's father while they exchange small talk about the weather. No one mentions the ugly tools of torture just mere yards away from the front door. The last thing I notice before we leave the square is that I don't recognize any of the Peacekeepers' faces.

As the days pass, things go from bad to worse. The mines stay shut for two weeks, and by that time half of District 12 is starving. The number of kids signing up for tesserae soars, but they most often don't receive their grain. Food shortages begin, and even those with money come away from stores empty-handed. When the mines reopen, wages are cut, hours extended, miners sent into blatantly dangerous work site. The eagerly awaited food promised for Parcel Day arrives spoiled and defiled by rodents. The installations in the square see plenty action as people are dragged in for offenses so long overlooked we've forgotten they are illegal.

Gale goes home, all talk of rebellion forgotten. But I can't help but think that all things he sees will only strengthen his resolve to fight back. The hardship in the mines, the tortured bodies in the square, the hunger on the faces of the family. Rory has signed up for tesserae, something that Gale can't even talk about, but it's not enough with the inconsistent availability and the ever increasing price of food.

The only bright spot, I get Haymitch to hire Hazelle as a housekeeper, resulting in extra money for her and greatly increases Haymitch's standard of living. It's weird going into his house, finding it fresh and clean, and food warming on the stove. He hardly notices because he's fighting a whole different battle. Peeta and I try to ration what white liquor we had, but it's almost run out, and the last time I saw Ripper, she was in stocks.

I feel like a pariah when I walk through the streets. Everyone avoids me in public now. But there's no shortage of company at home. A steady supply of ill and injured is deposited in the kitchen before my mom, who has long since stopped charging for her services. Her stocks of remedies are running so low that soon all she'll have to treat patients with is snow.

The woods, of course, are forbidden. Absolutely. No question. Gale doesn't even challenge this now. But one morning, I do. And it isn't the house full of sick and dying, the bleeding backs, the gaunt-faced children, the marching boots, the omnipresent misery that drives me under the fence. It's the arrival of a crate full of wedding dresses one night with a note from Effie saying that President Snow approved these himself. _Extremely bad timing, Effie._ I think, even though it's not her fault.

The wedding. Is he really planning to go through with it? What, in his twisted brain, will it achieve? Is it for the benefit of those in the Capitol? A wedding was promised, a wedding will be given. He can't kill us. If it was that simple, he would have killed me already. Nothing is making sense, and all the death and destruction is becoming too much for me to handle. I toss and turn in my bed until I can't take it anymore. I have to get out of here. At least for a few hours.

My hands dig around in my closet until I find the insulated winter gear Cinna made me for recreational use on the Victory Tour. Waterproof boots, a snow suit that covers me from head to toe, thermal gloves. I love my old hunting stuff, but the trek I have in mind is more suited to this high-tech clothing. I tiptoe downstairs, load my game bag with food, and sneak out of the house. I look in the direction Peeta's house momentarily, and then head into town. Slinking through the side streets and back alleys, I make my way to the weak spot in the fence near Rooba the butcher's. Since many workers cross this way to get to the mines, the snow pockmarked with footprints. Mine will not be noticed. With all his security upgrades, Thread has paid little attention to the fence, perhaps feeling harsh weather and wild animals are enough to keep everyone safely inside. Even so, once I'm under the chain link, I conceal my tracks until the trees do it for me.

Dawn is just breaking as I retrieve a set of bow and arrows and begin to force a path through the drifted snow in the woods. I'm determined, for some reason, to get to the lake. Maybe to say good-bye to the place, to my dad and the happy times we spent there, because I know I'll never return again. Maybe just so I can draw a complete breath again. Part of me doesn't really care if they catch me, if I can see it one last time.

The trip takes twice as long as usual. Cinna's clothes hold in heat alright, I'm soaked with sweat under the snow suit and my face is numb to the cold when I arrive. The glare of the winter sun has played games with my vision, and I am so exhausted and wrapped up in my own hopeless thoughts that I didn't notice the signs. The thin stream of smoke form the chimney, the indentation of recent footprints, the smell of steaming pine needles. I am literally a few yards from the door of the cement house when I pull up short. And that's not because of the smoke, the prints, or the smell. That's because of the unmistakable click of a weapon behind me.

Second nature. Instinct. I turn, drawing back the arrow, although I know that odds aren't in my favor. I see the white Peacekeeper uniform, the pointed chin, the light brown iris where my arrow will find its home. But the weapon is dropping to the ground and the unarmed woman is holding something out to me in her gloved hand.

"Stop!" she cries.

I waver, unable to process this turn of events. Perhaps they have orders to bring me in alive so they can torture me into incriminating every person I ever knew. _YOU WISH!_ I think. My fingers have all but decided to release the arrow when I see the object in the glove. It's a cracker, that is gray and soggy around the edges, but an image is clearly stamped in the center of it.

It's my mockingjay.


	37. Chapter 37

It makes no sense. My bird baked into a cracker. Unlike the stylist renderings I saw in the Capitol, this is not a fashion statement. "What is it? What does it mean?" I ask harshly, still prepared to kill.

"It means, that we're on your side," says a tremulous voice behind me.

I didn't see her when I came up. She must have been in the house. I didn't take my eyes off my current target. Probably the newcomer is armed, but I'm betting she won't let me hear the click that would mean my death is imminent, knowing I would instantly kill her companion. "Come around where I can see you," I order.

"She can't, she's-" begins the woman with the cracker.

"Come around!" I shout. There's a step, and a dragging sound. I can hear the effort the movement requires. Another woman, or should I say girl since she looks to be about my age, limps into view She's dressed in an ill-fitting Peacekeeper uniform complete with white fur cloak, but it's several sizes too large for her slight frame. Sher carries no visible weapon. Her hands are occupied with steadying a rough crutch made of a broken branch. The toe of her right boot can't clear the snow, hence the dragging.

I examine the girl's face, which is bright red from the cold. Her teeth are crooked, and there's strawberry birthmark over one of her chocolate eyes. This is no Peacekeeper. No citizen of the Capitol, either.

"Who are you?" I ask warily but less belligerently.

"My name's Twill," says the woman. She's older. Maybe thirty-five or so. "And this is Bonnie. We've run away from District 8."

District 8! Then they must know about the uprising!

"Where'd you get the uniforms?" I ask.

"I stole them from the factory," says Bonnie. "We make them there. Only I thought this one would be for… for someone else. That's why it fits so poorly."

"The gun came from a dead Peacekeeper," says Twill, following my eyes.

"The cracker in your hand. With the bird. What's that about?" I ask.

"Don't you know, Katniss?" Bonnie appears genuinely shocked.

They recognize me. Of course the recognize me. My face is uncovered and I'm standing here outside District 12 pointing an arrow at them. Who else would I be?

"I know it matches the pin I wore in the arena." I say.

"She doesn't know," says Bonnie softly. "Maybe not about any of it."

Suddenly I feel the need to appear on top of things. "I know you had an uprising in Eight."

"Yes, that's why we had to get out," says Twill.

"Well you're good and out now. What are you going to do?" I ask.

"We're headed for District 13," Twill says.

It takes me a moment for register Twill's words. "Thirteen? There is no Thirteen. It got blown off the map." I say.

"Yeah, seventy-five years ago," Twill says.

Bonnie shifts on her crutches and winces.

"What's wrong with your leg?" I ask.

"I twisted my ankle, and the boots are too big," says Bonnie.

I bite my lip. My instincts are telling me they're telling the truth. And behind the truth is a whole lot of information that I would like to get. I step forward and retrieve Twill's gun before lowering my bow, though. Then I hesitate a moment, thinking of another time in the woods, when Gale and I watched as hovercraft appear out of thin air and capture two escapees from the Capitol. I think that if these two are on the run, then I'm going to send them on their way. "Anyone after you?"

"We don't think so. We believe they think that we were killed in a factory explosion," says Twill. "Only a fluke that we weren't."

"All right, let's go inside," I say, nodding at the cement house. I follow them in, carrying the gun.

Bonnie makes straight for the hearth and lowers herself on a Peacekeeper's cloak that has been spread before it. She holds her hands to the feeble flame that burns on one end of a charred log. Her skin is so pale as to be translucent and I can see the fire glow through her flesh. Twill tires to arrange the cloak, which must have been her own, around the shivering girl.

A tin gallon can has been cut in half, the lip ragged and dangerous. It sits in the ashes, filled with a handful of pine needles steaming in water.

"Making tea?" I ask.

"We're not sure, really. I remember seeing someone do this with pine needles on the Hunger Games a few years back. At least, I think it was pine needle," Twill says with a frown.

I remember District 8, an ugly urban place stinking of industrial fumes, the people housed in run-down tenements. Barely a blade of grass in sight. No opportunity, ever, to learn the ways of nature. It's a miracle these two have made to this far.

"Out of food?" I ask.

Bonnie nods. "We took what we could, but foods been so scarce. That's been gone for a while now." The quaver in her voice melts the rest of my remaining defenses. She's just a malnourished, injured girl running from the Capitol.

"Well, then this is your lucky day," I say, dropping my game bag on the floor. People are starving all over the district and we still have more than enough. So I've been spreading things around a little. I have my own priorities: Gale's family, Greasy Sae, some of the other Hob traders who were shut down. My mom has other people, mostly patients, who she wants to help. This morning I purposely overstuffed my game bag this morning, knowing my mom would see the depleted supplies and assume I was making my rounds to the hungry. I was actually buying time to go to the lake without her worrying. I intended to deliver the food on my return tonight, but now I can see that won't be happening.

From the bag I pull two fresh buns with a layer of cheese baked into the top. We always seem to have a supply of these since Peeta found out that they were my favorite. I toss one to Twill but cross over and place the other in Bonnie's lap since her hand-eye coordination seems a little questionable at the moment and I don't want the thing to end up in the fire.

"Oh," Bonnie says. "Oh, is this for me?"

Something inside me twist as I remember another voice. Rue. In the arena. When I gave her the leg of groosling. " _Oh, I've never had a whole leg to myself before._ " The disbelief of the chronically hunger.

"Yeah, eat up," I say. Bonnie holds the bun as if she can't quite believe it's real and then sinks her teeth into again and again, unable to stop. "It's better if you chew it." She nods, trying to slow down, but I know how hard it is when you're that hollow. "I think you tea is done." I scoot the tin can from the ashes. Twill found two tin cups in her pack and I dip the out the tea, setting it on the floor. They huddle together, eating, blowing on their tea, taking tiny, scalding sips as I build a fire. I wait until they are sucking grease from their fingers to ask, "So, what's your story?" and they tell me.

Ever since the Hunger Games, the discontent has been growing in District 8. It was always there, of course, to some degree. But what differed was that talk was no longer sufficient, the idea of taking action went from a wish to a reality. The textile factories that service Panem are loud with machinery, and the din also allowed words to be passed safely, a pair of lips close to an ear, words unnoticed, unchecked. Twill taught at school, Bonnie was one of her pupils, and when the final bell rung, both of them would spend a four-hour shift at the factory that specialized in the Peacekeeper uniforms. It took months for Bonnie, who worked on a chilly dock, to secure two uniforms, a boot here, a pair of pants there. They were intended for Twill and her husband because it was understood, that once the uprising began, it would be crucial to get word of it out beyond District 8 if it were spread and be successful.

The day Peeta and I came through and made our Victory Tour appearance was actually a rehearsal of sorts. People in the crowd position themselves according to their teams next to the building they would target when the rebellion broke out. That was the plan: take over centers of power in the city like the Justice Building, the Peacekeepers' Headquarters, and the Communication Center in the square. And at other locations in the district: the railroad, the granary, the power station, and the armory.

The night of my engagement, the night Peeta fell to his knee and proclaim his undying love in front of the cameras in the Capitol, was the night of the uprising began. It was an ideal cover. The speech President Snow gave the night we were in the Capitol was mandatory viewing. It gave the people of District 8 a reason to be out after dark, gathering either in the square or around various community centers around the city to watch. Ordinarily such activities would be too suspicious. Instead everybody was in their place by the appointed hour, eight o'clock, when the masks went out and all hell broke loose.

Taken by surprise and overwhelmed by sheer numbers, the Peacekeepers were initially overcome by the crowd. The Communication Center, the granary, and the power station were all secured. As the Peacekeepers fell, weapons were appropriated for the rebels. There was hope that this had not been an act of madness, that in some way, that if they could get the word out to the other districts, an actual overthrow of the government in the Capitol might be possible.

But then the ax fell. Peacekeepers begin to arrive by the thousands. Hovercraft bomb the rebel strongholds into ashes. In the utter chaos that followed, it was all people could do to make it back to their homes alive. It took less than forty-eight hours to subdue the city. Then, for a week, there was lockdown. No food, no coal, people forbidden to leave their homes. The only time the television showed anything but static was the suspected instigators were hanged in the square. Then one night, as the whole district was on the brink of starvation, came the order to return to business as usual.

That meant school for Twill and Bonnie. A street made impassible by the bombs caused them to be late for their factory shift, so they were still a hundred yards away when it exploded, killing everyone inside – including Twill's husband and Bonnie's entire family.

"Someone must have told the Capitol that the idea for the uprising must have started there," Twill tells me faintly.

The two fled back to Twill's, where the Peacekeeper uniforms were waiting. They scrapped together what provisions they could, stealing freely from neighbors they now knew to be dead, and made it to the railroad station. In a warehouse near the tracks, they changed into the Peacekeeper uniforms and, disguised, were able to make it onto a boxcar full of fabric headed to District 6. They fled the train when it stopped for fuel along the way and traveled by foot. Concealed by the woods, using the tracks for guidance, they made it to the outskirts of District 12 two days ago, where they were forced to stop when Bonnie twisted his ankle.

"I understand why you're running, but what do you expect to find in District Thirteen?" I ask.

Bonnie and Twill exchange a nervous glance "We're not exactly sure," Twill says.

"It's nothing but rubble." I say. "We've all seen the footage."

"That's just it. They've been using the same footage for as long as anyone in District 8 can remember," says Twill.

"Really?" I try to think back, to call back the imagines 13 I've seen on television.

"You know how they always show the Justice Building?" Twill continues. I nod. I've seen it a thousand time. If you look very carefully, you'll see it. Up in the far right-hand corner."

"See what?" I ask

Twill holds the cracker out with the bird again. "A mockingjay. Just a glimpse of it as it flies by. The same one every time."

"Back home we think they're reusing old footage because the Capitol can't show what's really there now," says Bonnie.

I grunt in disbelief. "You're going District Thirteen based on that? A shot of a bird? You think you're going to find a new city with people strolling around in it? And that's just fine with the Capitol?"

"No," Twill says earnestly. "We think the people moved underground when everything on the surface was destroyed. We think they managed to survive. And we think the Capitol leaves them alone because, before the Dark Days, District Thirteen's principal industry was nuclear development."

"They were graphite miners." I say. But then I hesitate because that was information that I got from the Capitol.

"They had a few small mines. But not enough justify a population of that size. That, I guess, is the only thing we know for sure," says Twill.

My heart beats too quickly. What if they right? Could it be true? Could there be someone—wait a minute.

"Why haven't they helped us?" I say angrily. "If it's true, why do they leave us like this? With the hunger the killings and the Games?" And suddenly I hate this imaginary city of District 13, and those who sat by, watching us die. They're no better than the Capitol.

"We don't know," Bonnie whispers. "Right now we're just holding on to hope that they exist."

That snaps me to my senses. These are delusions. District 13 doesn't exist because the Capitol would never allow it. They're probably mistaken about the footage. Mockingjays are about as rare as rocks. And about as tough. If they could survive the initial bombing of 13, they're probably doing better than ever now.

Bonnie has no home. Her family is dead. Returning to District 8 or assimilating into another district would be impossible. Of course the independent, thriving 13 draws her. I can't bring myself to tell her that she's chasing a dream as insubstantial as a wisp of smoke. Perhaps she and Twill and can carve out an existence in the woods. I doubt it, but they're so pitiful I have to try to help.

First I give them all the food in my pack, grain and dried beans mostly, but there's enough to hold them for a while if they're careful. Then I take Twill out into the woods and explain the basics of hunting. She's got a weapon that can convert solar energy into deadly rays of power, so that could last indefinitely. When she manages to kill her first squirrel, the poor thing is mostly a charred mess because it took a direct hit to the body. But I show her how to skin and clean it. With some practice, she'll figure it out. I cut a new crutch for Bonnie. Back at the house I peel of an extra layer of socks for the girl, telling her to stuff them into the toes of her boots, then wear them on her feet at night. Finally I teach them both how to build a proper fire.

They beg me for details of the situation District 12 and I tell them about life under Thread. I can see this important information that they will be bringing to those who run District 13, and I play along as to not destroy their hopes. But when the light signals late afternoon, I'm out of time to humor them.

"I have to go now," I say.

They pour out there thanks and embrace me.

Tears spill from Bonnie's eyes. "I can't believe we actually got to meet you. You're practically all anybody talks about since you pulled—"

"Yeah, I know. Since I pulled out those berries," I say tiredly.

I hardly notice the walk home even though a wet snow begins to fall. My mind is spinning with new information about the uprising in District 8 and the unlikely but tantalizing possibility of District 13.

Listening to Bonnie and Twill has confirmed one thing: President Snow has been playing me for a fool. All the kissing and the endearments in the world couldn't have derailed the momentum building in District 8. Yes, my holding out the berries had provided the spark, but in no way was I able to control the fire. He must have known that. Then the only reason for the charade with the Victory Tour was to keep me from do something else inflammatory in the districts. I guess the wedding for the Capitol would be an extension of that directive.

I'm nearing the fence when a mockingjay lights on a branch and trills at me. At the sight of it I realize I never got a full explanation of the bird on the cracker and what it signifies.

" _It means we're on your side._ " What does that mean? Did I unwittingly become the face of the hoped-for rebellion? Has the mockingjay on the pin become a symbol of resistance? If so, my side is not doing too well. All you have to do is look at District 8, to know that. But what if the mockingjay has become the symbol of the rebellion? It's a crossbreed of an animal that's no longer exists. Have I become that crossbreed? Half-Capitol, half-district, could I succeed where the districts originally failed?

I stash my weapons in a log near my old home in the Seam and head for the fence. I'm crouched on one knee, preparing to enter the Meadow, but I'm so preoccupied by the day's events that it takes a sudden screech of an owl to bring me to my senses.

In the fading light, the chain link looks as innocuous as usual. But what makes me jerk my hand back is the sound, like the buzz of a tree full of tracker jacker nests, indicating the fence is alive with electricity.


	38. Chapter 38

My feet back up and I blend in with the trees. I cover my mouth with my glove to disperse the white of my breath in the icy air. Adrenaline courses through me, wiping all concerns of the day from my mind as I concentrate on the immediate threat in front of me. What's going on? Has Thread turned on the fence as an additional security precaution? Or does he know that I have escaped his net today? Is he determined to trap me outside the district until he can apprehend me and arrest me? Drag me to the square to be locked in the stockade or whipped or hanged?

 _Calm down_ , I order myself. It's not the first time I have been trapped outside district by an electrified fence. It's happened a few times over the years, but Gale was always with me. The two of us would pick a comfortable tree to hang out in until the power was shut off, which it always did eventually. If I was running late, Prim got in the habit of going to the Meadow to check if the fence was charged, to spare my mom the worry.

 _Why do I have a feeling that today the power won't be shut off, and that I have to beat a ticking clock._ I think. But today my family could never imagine that I would be in the woods. I've taken every step to mislead them. So if I don't show up, will they worry? And there's a part of me that's worried, too, because there's no possible way that it's a coincidence, the power coming back on the very day I return to the woods. _Way beyond coincidence._ I think.

I thought no one saw me sneak under the fence, but who knows? There are always eyes for hire. Someone reported Gale kissing me. Still that was in the broad daylight before I was more careful with my behavior. Could there be surveillance cameras? I wonder about this. Is this the way that President Snow knew about the kiss? It was dark when I went under and my face was bundled in a scarf. But the list of suspects to be trespassing in the woods is probably a short one. _There goes that idea._ I think.

My eyes peer through the trees, past the fence, into the Meadow. All I can see is wet snow illuminated here and there by the light from the windows on the edge of the Seam. No Peacekeepers in sight, no signs I'm being hunted. Whether Thread knows I left the district or not, my plan still remains the same: get back into the district unseen and act like nothing is out of the ordinary.

Any contact with the chain link or the coils of barbed wire that guard the top would mean instant electrocution. I don't think I can burrow under without risking detection, and the grounds frozen hard anyways. That leaves only one choice. Somehow I'm going to have to go over it.

I begin to skirt along the tree line, searching for a tree with a branch high enough to fit my needs. After about a mile, I come upon an old maple that might do. The trunk is too wide and icy to shinny up, though, there are no low branches. I climb a neighboring tree and leap precarious into the maple, almost losing my hold on the slick bark. But I manage to get a grip and slowly inch my way out on a limb that hangs above the barbed wire.

As I look down, I remember why Gale and I always waited in the woods instead of trying to tackle the fence. Bring high enough to avoid being fried means you gotta be at least twenty feet in the air. I guess my branch is twenty-five feet. _Crap!_ I think, that's a dangerously long drop even for someone who has years of experience in trees. But what choice do I have? I could look for another branch, but it's almost dark now. The falling snow will obscure the moonlight. Here, at least, I got a snowbank to cushion my fall. Even if I could find another branch, which is doubtful, who knows what I will be jumping into? I throw my empty game bag around my neck and slowly lower myself until I'm hanging by my hands. For a moment, I gather my courage. Then I release my fingers.

There's a sensation of falling, then I hit the ground with a jolt that goes right up my spine. A second later my rear end hits the ground. I lie in the snow, darn near paralyzed, trying to assess the damage. Without standing, I can tell by the pain in my left heel and tailbone that I'm injured. The question is how bad. I'm hoping for bruise, but when I force myself on to my feet, I suspect that I've broken something as well. I can walk, though, so I to get moving, trying to hide the limp as best I can.

My mom and Prim can't know I was in the woods. I need to work up some sort of alibi, no matter how thin. Some shops in the square are still open, so I go in one and purchase white cloth for bandages. We're running low, anyway. In another, I buy a bag of sweets for Prim. I stick one of the candies in my mouth, feeling the peppermint melt on my tongue, and I realize it's the first thing I've eaten all day. I meant to make a meal at the lake, but once I saw Twill and Bonnie's condition, it seemed wrong to take a single mouthful from them.

By the time I reach the house, my left heel will bear no weight at all. I decide to tell my mom I was trying to mend a leak in the roof of our old house and slid off. As for the missing food, I'll just be vague about who I handed it out to. I drag myself to the door, all ready to collapse in front of the fire. But instead, I get another shock.

Two Peacekeepers, a man and a woman, are standing in the doorway to our kitchen. _It never rains, but it pours._ I think. The woman remains impassive, but I register a flicker of surprise on the man's face. They weren't expecting me. They know I was in the woods and should be trapped there now.

"Hello," I say in a neutral voice.

My mom appears behind them, but keeps her distance. "Here she is, just time for dinner, she says a little too brightly. I'm beyond late for dinner.

I consider removing my boots as I normally would but doubt I could without revealing my injuries. Instead I pull my hood off and shake the snow from my hair. "Can I help you with something?" I ask the Peacekeepers.

"Head Peacekeeper Thread sent us with a message for you," says the woman.

"They've been waiting for hours," my mom adds.

They've been waiting for me to fail to return. To confirm I electrocuted by the fence or trapped in the woods so they could take my family in for questioning.

"Must be an important message," I say.

"May we ask where you have been, Miss Everdeen?" the woman asks.

"Might be easier ask where I _haven't_ been," I say with a sound of exasperation. I cross into the kitchen, forcing myself to use my foot normally even though every step is excruciating. I pass between the Peacekeepers and make it to the table alright. I fling my bag down and turn to see Prim standing stiffly by the hearth. Haymitch and Peeta are here as well, sitting in a pair of matching rockers, playing a game of chess. Were they here by chance or were they "invited" by the Peacekeepers. Either way, I'm glad they're here. Peeta looks up at me, and I wink at him.

"So where haven't you been?" Haymitch asks in bored voice.

"Well I haven't been talking to the Goat Man about getting Prim's goat pregnant, because someone gave me completely inaccurate information as to where he lives," I say emphatically to Prim.

"No I didn't," Prim says. "I told you exactly."

"You said that he lived next to the west entrance to the mines," I say.

"The east entrance," Prims corrects me.

"You distinctly said the west, because I said 'Next to the slag heap?' and you said 'Yeah,'" I say.

I look at mom in my peripheral vision and she is trying not to laugh at me and Prim bickering like two children, which isn't much of a stretch.

"The slag heap is next to the _east_ entrance," say Prim patiently.

"No. When did you say that?" I demand.

"Last night." Haymitch chimes in.

"It's was definitely the east," Peeta says. He looks at Haymitch and they both laugh. I swing my arms to full extension and glare at Peeta and he tries to look contrite. "I'm sorry, but it's what I've been saying. You don't listen when people talk to you."

"Bet people told you he didn't live there today and you didn't listen," says Haymitch.

"Uh! Shut up, Haymitch," I say, clearly indicating he was right.

Haymitch and Peeta crack up and Prim allows herself a smile.

"Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up," I say, which makes them laugh. And I think, _This is why they've made it this far, Haymitch and Peeta. Nothing throws them._

I look at the Peacekeepers. The man is smiling, but the woman is unconvinced. _Everyone's a critic._ I think. "What's in the bag?" she asks sharply.

I know she's hoping to find game or wild plants. Something that clearly condemns me. I dump the contents on the table. "See for yourself."

"Oh, good," says my mom, examining the cloth. "We're running low on bandages."

Peeta comes to the table and opens the bag of candy. "Oh, peppermints," he says, popping one in his mouth.

"They're mine." I take a swipe for the bag. He tosses it to Haymitch, who stuffs a fistful of sweets in his mouth before passing the bag to a giggling Prim.

"None of you deserve candy!" I say.

"What, because we're right?" Peeta wraps an arm around me. I give a small yelp a pain as my tailbone objects. I try to turn it into a sound of indignation, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I'm hurt. "Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we're all idiots, How's that?"

"Better," I say and accept his kiss. The kiss must have went longer than I expected because I heard Haymitch clear his throat. Then I remembered that the two Peacekeepers. "You had a message for me?"

"From Head Peacekeeper Thread," says the woman. "He wanted you to know that the fence surrounding District 12 will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day."

"Didn't it already?" I ask, a little innocently.

"He thought you might be interested in passing this information along to your cousin," says the woman.

"Thank you. I'll tell him that. I'm sure we'll all sleep soundly now that the lapse in security is addressed." I know I'm pushing things, but the comment give me a sense of satisfaction.

The woman's jaw tightens. None of this has gone as planned, but she has no further orders. She gives me a curt nod and leaves, the man trailing in her wake. When my mom has locked the door behind them, I slump against Peeta. Peeta's arm automatically wraps around my back and his other hand cradles my neck like the night before the Games, and I feel myself start to break a little at the strength of his embrace.

"Don't you think you were pushing it just a little there?" Haymitch harped.

"Never mind that, what is?" says Peeta, holding me steady.

"Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tailbone has had a _very_ bad day, too." He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion.

My mom ease off my boot. "What happened?"

"I slipped and fell." Four pairs of eyes stared at me in disbelief. "On some ice." But we all know that the house is bugged and it's not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now.

Having stripped off my sock, my mom's fingers probe the bones in my heel and I wince. "There might be a break," she says. She checks my other foot. "This one seems alright." She judges my tailbone to be badly bruised.

Prim's dispatched to get my pajamas and robe. When I'm changed, my mom makes a snow pack for my left heel and props it up on a hassock. I eat three bowls of stew and half a loaf of bread while the others dine at the table. I stare at the fire, thinking of Bonnie and Twill, hoping the heavy, wet snow covered my tracks.

Prim comes and sits next to me on the floor leaning her head against my knee. We suck on peppermints as I brush her soft blond hair back behind an ear. "How was school?" I ask.

"All right. We learn about coal by-products." she says. We stare at the fire for a while. "Are you going to try on your wedding dresses?"

"Not tonight. Tomorrow probably," I say.

"Wait until I get home, okay?" she says.

"Sure." _If they don't arrest me first._

My mom gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose a sleep syrup, and my eyes begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I'm so wobbly that he just scoops me up and take me upstairs. Before we are out of sight of everyone else I gently, and lightly kiss Peeta's cheek. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don't want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in bed with me, for old time sake. To be there when the nightmares hit. For reasons I can't quite form, I know I can't ask that. Not here. Not like this.

 _This being that there could be listen devices in the room._ I think. "Don't go yet. Not until I fall asleep." I say.

Peeta sits on the side of my bed, warming my hand in both of his. "With you being late, I thought you might have changed your mind. Not being here for dinner."

I'm foggy, but I have enough sense to make out what Peeta meant. With the fence going on and the Peacekeepers waiting for me when I showed up and mostly me showing up late. He thought I made a run for it, and possibly ran with Gale in tow. _I hope he doesn't think I would take Gale over him._ I think.

"No, I'd have told you," I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint smell of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today. I want to tell him about Twill and Bonnie and the uprising and the fantasy of District 13, but it's not safe and I feel myself slipping away, so I get one more sentence out. "Stay with me."

Just as the last tendrils of the sleep syrup are about to pull me under, I hear Peeta whisper one word. "Always."

My mom lets me sleep until noon, and then rouses me to check my heel. I'm ordered a week of bed rest and I don't object because I feel so lousy. Not just my heel and tailbone. But my whole body aches with exhaustion. So I let my mom doctor and feed me breakfast in bed and tuck another quilt around me. Then I just lie there, staring out my window at the winter sky, pondering how on earth this will all turn out. I think a lot about Bonnie and Twill, and the pile of white wedding dresses downstairs, and if Thread figured out how I got back in and arrest me. It's funny, because he could just arrest me, anyway, based on past crimes, but maybe he has to have something a little more irrefutable to do it, now that I'm a victor. And I wonder if President Snow is in contact with Thread. I think it's unlikely that he will ever acknowledge that old Cray existed, but now that I'm a nationwide, is he carefully instructing Thread what to do? Or is Thread acting on his own. At any rate, I'm sure they'd both agree on keeping me locked up here in the district with the fence.

For the next few days, I jump whenever there's a knock at the door. No Peacekeeper shows up to arrest me, though, so I eventually begin to relax. I'm further assured when Peeta tells me casually that the power is off in certain sections of the fence because crews are securing the base of the chain link to the ground. Thread must believe I somehow got under the thing, even with the deadly current running through it. It's a break for the district, to have the Peacekeepers busy doing something else besides abusing people.

Peeta comes by every day to bring me cheese buns and begins to help on my family book. It's an old thing, made of parchment and leather. Some herbalist on my mom's side of the family started it ages ago. The books composed page after page of ink drawings of plants with description of their medical uses. My dad added a section on edible plants that was my guidebook to keeping us alive after his death. For a long time, I wanted to record my own knowledge in it. Things I've learned from experience or from Gale, and the information that I picked up when I was training for the Games. I didn't because I'm no artist and it's so crucial the pictures are drawn in exact detail. That's where Peeta comes in. Some of the plants he knows already, others we have dried samples of, and others I have to describe. He makes sketches on scrap paper until I'm satisfied, then I let him draw them in the book. After that, I carefully print everything I know about the plant.

It's quiet, absorbing work that helps take my mind off my troubles. I like to watch his hands as he works, making a blank page bloom with ink, adding touches of color to our previously black and yellowish book. His face takes on a special look when he concentrates. His usual easy expression is replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world is locked away inside him. I've seen flashes of this before: in the arena, or when he speaks to the crowd. I don't quite know what to make of it. I also become fixated on his eye lashes, which you ordinarily don't see because their blond. But up close, in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they're a light golden color and so long I don't know how they from getting all tangle up when he blinks. I lean over and lightly kiss his cheek. Peeta stops in mid stroke, smiling up at me, then returns to his attention to the book.

One afternoon Peeta stops shading a blossom and looks up suddenly that I start, but all he says, "You know, I think this is the first time we've done anything normal together."

I lean in and kiss him on the lips, and I get a few more. "Yeah." I agree. Our whole relationship had been tainted by the Games. Normal was never a part of it. "Nice for a change."

Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everybody by turning on the television. Usually we watch it only when it's mandatory, because a mix of propaganda and displays of Capitol power – including clip from seventy-four years of Hunger Games – is so odious. But now I'm looking for something special. The mockingjay that Bonnie and Twill are basing all their hopes on. I know its foolishness, but if it is, I want to rule it out. And erase the idea of a thriving District 13 from my mind for good.

My first sighting is in the news story referencing the Dark Days. I see the smoldering remains of the Justice Building in District 13 and just catch the black-and-white underside of a mockingjay's wing as it flies across the upper right-hand corner. That doesn't prove anything, really, it's just an old shot goes with an old tale.

However, serval days later something else grabs my attention. The main newscaster is reading a piece about a graphite shortage affecting the manufacturing of items in District 3. They cut to what is supposed to be live footage of a female reporter, encased in a protective suit, standing in front of the ruins of the Justice Building in 13. Through her mask, she reports that unfortunately a study today has just determined that the mines are still too toxic to approach. End of story. But before they cut back to the main newscaster, I see the unmistakable flash of that same mockingjay's wing.

The reporter has simply been incorporated into the old footage. She's not in District 13 at all. Which begs the question, _What is?_


	39. Chapter 39

Staying quietly in bed is harder after that. I want to be doing something, finding out more about District 13, or something. Instead I sit around stuffing myself with cheese buns while Peeta sketches. Haymitch stops by occasionally to bring news from the town, which is always bad. More people being punished or dropping from starvation.

Winter has begun to withdraw by the time my foot is deemed usable. My mom gives me exercises and lets me walk on my own a bit. I go to sleep one night, determined to go into town the next morning, but I awake to find Venia, Octavia and Flavius grinning down at me.

"Surprise!" they squeal. _Holy crap!_ I think. "We're her early!"

After I took the lash in the face, Haymitch got their visit pushed back several months so I could heal up. I wasn't expecting them for another three weeks. But I try to act delighted that the bridal photo shoot is here at last. My mom hung up all the dresses, so they're ready to go, but to be honest, I haven't even tried one on.

After the usual histrionics about the deteriorated state of my beauty, they get right down to business. Their biggest concern is my face, although I think my mom did a pretty remarkable job healing it. There's just a pale pink strip across my cheekbone. The whippings not common knowledge, so I tell them that I slipped on some ice and cut it. _That's the same excuse I gave for hurting my foot. Crap! I have to walk in high heels. That's going to be problematic._ I think. But Flavius, Octavia, and Venia aren't the suspicious type, so I'm safe there.

Since I only have to look hairless for a few hours instead several weeks, I get to be shaved instead of waxed. I still have to soak in a tub of something, but it isn't vile, and we're on to my hair and makeup before I know it. The team, as usual, is full of news, which I usually do my best to tune out. But then Octavia makes a comment that catches my attention. It's a passing remark, really, about how she couldn't get shrimp for a party, but it tugs at me.

"Why couldn't you get shrimp? Is it out of season?" I ask.

"Oh, Katniss, we haven't be able to get seafood for several weeks now!" says Octavia. "You know because the weather has been so bad in District Four."

My mind begins buzzing. No sea food. For weeks. From District 4. The barely concealed rage in the crowd during the Victory Tour. And suddenly I'm absolutely sure that District 4 has revolted.

I begin to question them causally about what other hardships this winter has brought them. They are not used to want, so any little disruption in supplies makes an impact on them. By the time I'm ready to be dressed, their complaints about getting different products – from crabmeat to music chips to ribbons – has given me a sense of which districts are rebelling. Seafood from District 4. Electronic gadgets from District 3. And, of course, fabrics from District 8. The thought of such widespread rebellion has me quiver with fear and excitement.

I want to ask them more, but Cinna appears to give me a hug and check my makeup. His attention goes right to the scar on my cheek. Somehow I don't think he believes the slipping-on-the-ice story, but he doesn't question it. He simply adjust the powder on my face, and what little you can see of the lash mark vanishes.

Downstairs, the living room has been cleared and lit for the photo shoot. Effie's having a fine time ordering people around, keeping us all on schedule. It's probably a good thing, otherwise nothing would get done, that and there are six gowns with their own headpiece, shoes, jewelry, makeup, setting, and lighting. Creamy lace and pink roses and ringlets. Ivory satin and gold tattoos and greenery. A sheath of diamonds and jeweled veil and moonlight. Heavy white silk with sleeves that fall from my waist to the floor, and pearls. The moment one shot has been approved, we move to the next one. I feel like dough, being kneaded and reshaped again and again. My mom manages to feed me bits of food and sips of tea while they work on me, but by the time the shoot is over, I'm starving and exhausted. I'm hoping to spend some time with Cinna, but Effie whisks everybody out the door and I have to make do with the promise of a phone call. _I'm not getting married by the Capitol!_ I think.

Evening has fallen and my foot hurts from all the crazy shoes that I abandonany thoughts of going into town. Instead I go upstairs and wash away the layers of makeup and conditioners and dyes and then go down to dry my hair by the fire. Prim, who came home in time to see the last two dresses, chatters on about them with mom. They both seem overly happy about the shoot. When I fall into bed, I realize it's because they think it means I'm safe. That the Capitol has over look my interference with the whipping since nobody is go to such trouble and expense on someone they plan killing, anyway. Right.

In my nightmare, I'm dressed in the silk bridal gown, but it's torn and muddy. The long sleeves keep getting caught on branches and thorns as I run through the woods. The pack of muttation tributes draws near and nearer until it over comes me with hot breath and dripping fangs and I scream myself awake.

It's too close to dawn to bother going back to sleep. Besides today, I really need to get out and talk to somebody. Gale will be unreachable in the mines. But I need Haymitch or Peeta or somebody to share the burden of everything that has happened since my trip to the lake. Fleeing outlaws, electrified fences, a supposed independent District 13, shortages in the Capitol. Everything.

I eat breakfast with mom and Prim and head out in search of a confidant. The air's warm with hopeful hints of spring in it. Spring would be the perfect time for an uprising, hypothetically. Everyone feels less vulnerable once winter has passed. Peeta's not home. I guess he's already gone into town. I'm surprised to see Haymitch moving around in his kitchen so early, though. I walk into his house without knocking. I can hear Hazelle upstairs, sweeping the floor of the now spotless house. Haymitch isn't flat-out drunk, but he doesn't look to steady, either. I guess the rumors about Ripper being back in business are true. I'm thinking I better let him go back to bed, but he tells me to take a seat.

Haymitch and I can speak in kind of a shorthand now. In a few minutes I've update him and he's told me rumors about uprisings in Districts 7 and 11 as well. If my hunches are correct, this would mean almost half the districts have revolted. I think of what it would take for District 12 to rebel, _Which I'm not advocating._ I think.

"There isn't enough people here to have an effective rebellion." I say.

"Oh, there are. It's just those other Districts were much bigger than ours. Even if half the people cower in their homes, the rebels stand a chance. Here in Twelve, it's all or nothing," he says.

"Not that I'm advocating a rebellion." I say.

"I know, but we're small and weak. Plus we don't develop nuclear weapons." Haymitch says with a touch of sarcasm. He didn't get too excited about my District 13 story.

"What do you think they'll do, Haymitch? To the districts that are rebelling?" I ask.

"Well, you heard what they did in Eight. You've seen what they did here, and that was without provocation," says Haymitch. "If things really do get out of hand, I think they have no problem wiping out another district, just as they did Thirteen. Make an example of it, you know?"

"So you think Thirteen was destroyed? I mean Bonnie and Twill were right about the mockingjay footage," I say.

"Okay, but what does that prove? There are plenty of reason for them to recycle old footage. Probably looks impressive, and it's easier. How much easier would it be to press a few buttons in the editing room, than it is to fly all the way out there to film it?" he says. "The idea that the district somehow rebounded _and_ the Capitol is ignoring it? That sounds like the desperate rumor people cling to."

I think on what he said, but a funny thought enters my mind. _Nuclear weapons, and the possibility that the Capitol lied._ Before I can even formulate my words, Haymitch asks. "What's the matter?'

"Something doesn't track." I say.

"Like what?" he asks.

"The _possibility_ that District 13 was developing nuclear weapons." I say.

This thought grabs Haymitch's attention. "Go on." he says.

"They said that with the destruction of District 13 that it has become radioactive because the destruction of whatever develops the nuclear material." I say.

"The reactors. Radioactive material is developed in reactors." he says.

"Okay. I don't know what would happen destroyed a nuclear reactor, but I don't think Capitol is portraying it correctly." I say.

"How so?" he asks.

"One reactor made all of District 13 uninhabitable for the past seventy-five years." I say the tension rising.

"Yeah, so." he continues.

"They were developing nuclear weapons." I say. "It's highly unlikely that District 13 only had on reactor." I say.

"So you're saying—" Haymitch stops short as Hazelle enters the kitchen.

"I finished cleaning. Is there anything else that you want me to do?" Hazelle asks.

"No, that will be all." Haymitch says, pulling out the necessary money to pay Hazelle for her services. Haymitch walks Hazelle out, so we can finish our conversation in private. "So what you're telling is that the Capitol lied about the destruction of Thirteen for—what?" Haymitch asks when he returns.

"It's just like I told Peeta last year in the arena—this is the Capitol—it could be for a dozens of reasons." I say. "If they had actually destroyed all those reactors, I'm guessing more than half of Panem would be uninhabitable."

Haymitch takes what I said in stride, and then I head home. Prim comes home bubbling over with excitement. The teachers had announced that there was mandatory programming tonight. "I think it's going to be you photo shoot!"

"It can't be, Prim. We just took those pictures yesterday," I tell her.

"Well, that's what somebody heard," she said.

I hope she's wrong, I don't want to deal with that. _I really don't want to deal with that right now._ I think.

When we gather around the television at seven-thirty, I discover that Prim is right. Sure enough, there's Caesar Flickerman speaking before a standing-room-only crowd in front of the Training Center, talking to an appreciative crowd about my upcoming nuptials. He introduces Cinna, who has become an overnight celebrity because of his costumes for me during the Games, and after a minute of good-natured chitchat, we're directed to look at the giant screen.

I see now how they photographed me yesterday and are showing the special tonight. Initially, Cinna designed two dozen wedding dresses. Since then, there's been the process of narrowing the designs, creating the dresses, and creating the dresses. Apparently, in the Capitol there were opportunities to vote on your favorites at each stage. This is culminating with shots of me in the final six dresses, which I'm sure took no time at all to insert into the show. Each shot is met with a huge reaction from the crowd. People screaming for their favorites, booing for the ones they don't like. Having voted, and probably bet on the winner, people are interesting in my wedding gown. It's bizarre to watch because I didn't even bother to try on any of the dresses until the cameras arrived. Caesar announces that interested parties must cast their final vote by noon on the following day.

"Let's get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style!" he hollers to the crowd. I'm about to shut the television off, but then Caesar tells the crowd to stay tuned for the other big event of the evening. "That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our Third Quarter Quell!"

"What will they do?" asks Prim. "It isn't for months."

We turn to our mom, whose expression is solemn and distant, as if remembering something. "It must be the reading of the card."

The anthem plays, and my throat tightens with revulsion as President Snow takes the stage. He's followed by a young boy dressed in a white suit, holding a simple wooden box. The anthem ends, and President Snow begins to speak, to remind us all of the Darks Days from which the Hunger Games were born. When the laws for the Games were laid it, they dictated that every twenty-five years the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell. It would call for a glorified version of the Games to mark the fresh memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion.

Those words are very pointed, since a number of districts have rebelled by now, if not more.

President Snow goes on to explain what happened in the previous Quarter Quells. "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent them.

I wonder how that would have felt. Picking the kids who had to go. It is worse, I think, to be turned over by you own neighbors than to have your name drawn from the reaping ball.

"On the fiftieth anniversary," the president continues, "as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, every district was require to send twice as many tributes."

I imagine facing a field of forty-seven instead of twenty-three. Worse odds, less hope, but still more dead kids. That was the year Haymitch won…

"I had a friend who went that year," says mom quietly. "Maysilee Donner. Her parents owned the sweet shop. They gave me her songbird after. A canary."

Prim and I share a look. It was the first time we've heard of Maysilee Donner. Maybe because mom knew that we would ask how she died.

"And now we honor our Third Quarter Quell," says the president. The little boy in white steps forward, holding out the box as he opens the lid. We can see the tidy, upright row of yellow envelopes. Whoever designed the Quarter Quell system had prepared for centuries of Hunger Games. The president removes and envelop clearly marked with a 75. He runs his finger under the envelope and pulls out a square sheet of paper. Without hesitation, he reads, "On the anniversary of seventy-fifth Hunger Games, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest of them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors."

My mom gives a faint shriek, and Prim buries her face in her hands, but I feel more like the people I see in the crowd on television. Slightly baffled. What does it mean? Existing pool of victors?

Then I get. What it means. At least for me. District 12 only has three remaining victors, _More like survivors._ I think, to choose from. Two male. One female…

I'm going back into the arena.


	40. Chapter 40

_A/N: Sorry for taking so long to get this chapter out. It took me longer than expected to write._

 _Peeta!_ Was the first thing to cross my mind as soon as President Snow had finish reading the card. I get up off the couch and run from the house. _I have to stop him! He will try to make a deal to go back into the arena, and I can't let him do that._ I head to Peeta's house, and I don't even knock. I open the doors and shout. "PEETA!" I wait for a few seconds, and then shout again. "Peeta!"

If he was home he would have most likely answer my first call, so I exit the house, shutting the door behind me. I head over to Haymitch's house next, but I don't enter the door. I have a feeling that Peeta didn't come home first, he came straight here. I look in through the bay window, and to my great displeasure I see Peeta and Haymitch talking. I move from the window as the howl over talks me, and I'm screaming. Screaming that my boyfriend is willing to throw his life away to protect me. He must know that this is a suicide mission he's on. I'm almost certain that when I go back into the arena, I won't be coming out alive. _And yet Peeta still wants to go. I guess that is the true meaning of love. Willing to go to great lengths, even at the expense of your own life. Who am I kidding! Didn't I go to the feast last year to save Peeta!_ I think.

By the time I register my scream has finished I noticed two things: my voice was raw, and I'm not properly dressed for the elements. I head to the nearest house and head inside. I had a momentary lapse of judgment as to why the door didn't open right away when I got to it. I enterand shut the door behind me. The house is freezing, no point to keep the heat on if nobody lives here. I head up to one of bedrooms, and wrap myself up in one of the blankets and break down and start sobbing. I envisioned many things happening. Being publicly humiliated, tortured, and executed. Marriage to Peeta and our children forced into the arena, But never would I have imagined that I would I find myself as tribute again. Why? Because there's no precedent for it. Victors are out of the reaping for life if the win. That's the deal if you win. Until now.

I continue to cry until another thought crosses my mind. _I'm going to have to kill Peeta or Haymitch, and there's no scenario in the world where that is going to happen._ I think. I unwrap myself from the blanket, and exit the house. My mind is swirling with the implications of what is about to happen. _If Haymitch goes back into the arena, he will have to kill some of his friends. Can't say I envy him. Then again, I'm an easy target for all the other victors._ I think.

Mentally I'm off in space, but my body knows how to get to Haymitch's house. I'm mentally prepared myself for a fight that I have no will to engage in right now. I enter Haymitch's house and find him in the kitchen with a bottle of white liquor in one fist, and his knife in the other. Drunk as a skunk.

"Ah, there she is. All tuckered out, and by the looks of it grieving the coming days. Finally did the math, did you, sweetheart? Worked out you won't be going in the arena alone. And now you here to ask me… what?" he says.

I don't answer. The window's wide open and the wind cuts through me as if I were outside.

"I'll admit it was easy with the boy. He was here before I could snap the seal on a bottle. But what can you say?" he asks.

I cut Haymitch off. His self-righteous rant is starting to piss me off. "SHUT UP HAYMITCH!" I shout. Haymitch stares at me, but not incredulously. He's not used to anybody challenging him. "You don't get to act all self-righteous! You and Peeta made a silent deal to protect me last year. I didn't ask for protection. Then again you decided not to tell Peeta that the Capitol wanted me dead, so you're hardly the person to act like they're innocent in this matter. You don't get to say that I could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him because look at what you did."

"What's that?" Haymitch asked.

"You were still a teenager before you turned to the bottle so you had to have a modicum of attractiveness, you could have had any woman in the district, but what did you do? You chose solitude and the bottle." I accuse Haymitch of his lack of wanting to rejoin society. I see Haymitch lower his gaze from me. _At least he had the decency to look ashamed. Or he could have loved a girl, but they're dead now and he had a hard time moving on from them._ "That's not to say you weren't in love at one time, but you're hardly the one to tell me that my relationship with Peeta is horrible. If you must know I went to Peeta's house as soon as President Snow finished reading the card because I knew Peeta would want to go back into the arena to protect me. I wanted to stop him from throwing his life away, but if I'm being honest with myself I don't want you to die either."

"Why?" Haymitch asked.

"Although you should be the one to go back into the arena, seeing as how you hate life the most out of the three of us." I say.

"That's a valid point." he said.

"I don't want you to go back in there either because in the short span that I've known you, you have become family." I said.

"Father figure?" he asked.

"That would be a tall order to fill, easily an uncle." I say playfully.

"Good enough." he says.

"All I can say is that, if Peeta goes back into the arena, it's his turn to be saved." I say

"Okay." he says.

"If you must know why I came here for, it was for a drink." I say.

Haymitch slid the bottle across the table, and reach under the table for a fresh bottle. I take a sip of the bottle before Haymitch asks. "Why did you come for a drink?"

"You must know why they changed to card." I said.

"Changed the card?" he asks.

"Come on, Haymitch. You may be drunk three-quarters of the time, but you have to know this is a set up. They just happen to have a card that say that the victors are to be reaped, instead of some other sick twist. You have to know why they're doing it." I say.

"To kill you without having to be held accountable." he says.

"Bingo. And yes I had been crying earlier. I was in the house next door lamenting that Peeta is willing to enter the arena knowing that it's a suicide mission." I said, the tears coming back.

"I see that. Your hand is also busted up." Haymitch said.

Haymitch goes to get a first aid kit to bandage my hand. I rinse the wound and I grimace as I disinfect it with the white liquor. He comes back with some gauze, tape and antiseptic. "No need for that." I say, on the verge of slurring my words.

"Why not?" he asks holding the bottle of antiseptic.

All I do is raise my eyebrows and take another sip of white liquor. "I think you've had enough of that." Haymitch said grabbing the bottle out of my hand and set it on the table, and then bandages my hand. Haymitch stares at me for a time, and I stare at my bandaged hand. "So if could you do it. Kill all the victors just so Peeta could win, would you do it?" he asks.

I let out a breathy laugh. Haymitch glances at me. "How long have you been playing this game Haymitch?" I ask.

"Long enough." he says.

"Then you know why that question you asked is a joke." I said.

"Very true." he says.

"Good night Haymitch." I say. I reach out and kiss Haymitch's cheek and give him a hug good night.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"I'm going to go home." I say. I should go see Peeta, but I know him. He's innocent to a fault, and won't see me in my current state.

I exit the kitchen and get to the door with my hand on the knob when Haymitch stops me from leaving. "Katniss." he says. I hear Haymitch exit the kitchen and I can feel his eyes boring into my back.

"What?" I ask, not taking my eyes from the door.

"Do you?" he asks.

I snicker. _Do you? Of all the questions to pose, Haymitch asks that one. Do you? I know what he mean, though. Do you love Peeta?_ I think. I look over my shoulder making eye contact with Haymitch. "There's not much of a reason to live, if he isn't by my side." I say, and then exit the house. Haymitch didn't miss the tears that were brimming in my eyes.

As I make my way to my way home I think of the statement that neither Haymitch nor I voiced, but understood. _Nobody ever wins the Games. Period. There are survivors. But there's no winners._

I'm at door in minutes, and I barely get the door shut before my mom and sister descend on me, clutching me. They were both crying and I'm on the verge of tears myself. After a few seconds of them crying over me, I succumb to the white liquor and pass out.

When I wake up, I barely make it to the toilet before the white liquor makes its reappearance. It burns just as much coming up as it did going down, and taste twice as bad. I'm trembling and sweaty when I finish vomiting, but at least most of the stuff is out of my system. Enough made it into my bloodstream, though, to result in a pounding headache, parched mouth and boiling stomach.

I turn the shower on and stand in the warm rain for a few minutes before I realize I'm still in undergarments. My mom must have stripped off my outer ones and tucked me into bed. I throw the wet undergarments in the sink and shampoo on my head. My hand stings, and that's when I noticed the stitches, small and even, across the palm and up the other side of my hand. I vaguely remember breaking the window last night. Haymitch patch my hand up, and then mom must have finished the job. I scrub myself from head to toe, only stopping to throw up again in the shower. It's mostly just bile and goes right down with the sweet-smelling bubbles.

Finally I'm clean, pull on my robe and head back to bed, ignoring my dripping hair. I climb under the blankets, sure this is what it's like to be poisoned. The footsteps on the stairs remind me that I have to face mom and Prim after the reading of the card. I grieved for Peeta last night, but I didn't think of what this particular Games will mean for my family and I'm not ready to face them. I have to pull myself together to be calm and reassuring, the way I was when I said our good-byes the day of the last reaping. I have to be strong. _Somehow I don't feel as brave as I did almost a year ago._ I think. I struggle into an upright position, push my wet hair off my throbbing temples, and brace myself for the coming storm that is about to be unleashed. They appear in the doorway holding tea and toast, their faces filled with concern. I open my mouth, planning to start off with a joke, but I'm not my lover, and I burst into tears.

So much for being strong. My mom sits on the side of the bed and Prim crawls right up next to me and they hold me, making quiet soothing sounds, until I'm mostly cried out. Then Prim gets a towel and dries my hair, combing out the knots while mom coaxes tea and toast into me. They dress me in warm pajamas and layer more blankets me and I drift off again.

I can tell from the light it's late afternoon when I come around again. There's a glass of water on the bedside table and I gulp it down thirstily. My stomach and head still feel rocky, but much better than they did earlier. I rise, dress, and braid my hair back. As I'm going downstairs my mind is on Peeta and how that conversation is going to play out, but I don't get that far.

Downstairs, mom and Prim embrace me again, but they are not overly emotional. _Not that I can blame them._ I think, I can tell they're holding things in to make it easier for me. Looking at Prim's face, it's hard to tell she's the same frail little girl I left behind on reaping day nine months ago. The combination of that ordeal and all that has followed—the cruelty in the district, the parade of sick and wounded that she often treats by herself now if mom is busy—these things have aged her years. She's grown quite a bit, too; we're practically the same height now, but isn't what makes her seem older.

My mom ladles out a mug of broth for me, and I ask for a second mug to take to Haymitch. Then I walk across the lawn to his house. He's only just waking up and accepts the mug without comment. We sit there almost peacefully, sipping the broth and watching the sun set through his living room window. I hear someone walking around upstairs and I assume its Hazelle, but a few minutes later Peeta comes down and tosses a cardboard box of empty liquor bottles on the table with finality.

"There, it's done," he said.

It's taking all Haymitch's resources to focus on the bottles, so I speak up. "What's done?"

"I've poured all the liquor down the drain," says Peeta.

This seems to jolt Haymitch out of his stupor, and he paws through the box. "You what?"

"I tossed the lot," Peeta says.

I stop and think about this little action. Peeta dumped the liquor in hopes that Haymitch would be ready to renter the arena. _I'm guessing he also went and spoke to Ripper also._ I think. "And Ripper?" I asked.

"I tracked Ripper down this morning and told her I'd turn her in the second if she sold to either of you. I paid her off, just for good measure, but I doubt she's eager to be back in Peacekeeper custody." Peeta says.

Knowing Haymitch he will try to swing on Peeta with his knife, so I reach out and lay a hand on his shoulder. Haymitch looks at me, and I shake my head. "What business is it of yours what I do?" Haymitch asks.

"It's completely my business. However it falls out, two will be going of us are back into the arena again with the other as mentor. We can't afford any drunkards on this team especially not you, Katniss." Peeta says to me.

"What?" I sputter indignantly. _That would have been more convincing if I wasn't still hungover._ I think. "Last night's the only time I've been drunk."

"Yeah, and look at the sad shape you're in." Peeta says.

The moment the words leave Peeta's mouth I see a flicker hurt cross Peeta's face. _He's doing this for my benefit._ I think. My exterior must have momentarily cracked, but I school myself features and harden my heart for the time being. Peeta attack isn't personal, let alone is he ending our relationship. He's just preparing me for my return to the arena. I didn't know what to expect from Peeta after the announcement. A few hugs and kisses. A little comfort maybe. But not this. I turn to Haymitch. "Just wait until after the reaping."

"What's the point?" Haymitch asks, still eyeing me.

"The point is two of us are coming home from the Capitol. One mentor one victor," says Peeta. "Effie is sending me recordings of all the living victors. We're going to watch their Games and to learn everything we can about how they fight. We're going to put on weight and get strong. We're going to start acting like Careers. And one of us is going to be a victor again whether you two like it or not!" He sweeps out of the room, slamming the front door.

Haymitch and I wince at the bang.

"I don't like self-righteous people." I say massaging my temples.

"What's to like?" Haymitch asks, who begins sucking dregs out of the empty bottles.

"You and me. That's who he plans on coming home," I say.

"Then the jokes on him," says Haymitch.

But after a few days, we agree to act like Careers, because this is the best way to get Peeta ready as well. Every night we watch old recaps of the Games that the remaining victors won. I realize we never met any of them on the Victory Tour, which seems odd in retrospect. When I bring it up, Haymitch says the last thing President Snow would've wanted was to show Peeta and me—especially me—bonding with victors of potentially rebellious districts. Victors have a special status, and if they appear to be supporting my defiance of the Capitol, it would've been a dangerous politically. _Not that it mattered anyways, the districts rebelled without me meeting their victors._ I think. Adjusting for age, some of our opponents will be elderly, which is both saddening and reassuring. Peeta takes copious notes, and Haymitch volunteers information about the victor's personalities, and slowly we begin to know our competition.

Every morning we do exercises to strengthen our bodies. We run and lift things and stretch our muscles. Every afternoon we work on combat skills, throwing knives, fighting hand to hand; I even teach them to climb trees. Officially, tributes aren't even supposed to train, but no one tries to stop us. Even in regular years, tributes from District 1, 2, and 4 show up being able to wield spears and swords. This is nothing by comparison.

After all those years of abuse, Haymitch's body resist improvement. He's remarkably strong, but the shortest run winds him. And you'd think a guy who sleeps with a knife every knife would be able to hit the side of a house with one, but his hands his shakes so badly it takes weeks for him to achieve even that.

Peeta and I excel under this new regimen, though. It gives me something to do. It gives us all something to do besides accept defeat. My mom puts us on a special diet to help us gain weight. Prim treats our sore muscles. Madge sneaks us her father's Capitol newspapers. Predictions on who will be victor of victors show us among the favorites. Even Gale steps into the picture on Sundays, even though he has no love for Peeta or Haymitch, and teaches us all he knows about snares. It's weird for me, being in conversations with both Gale and Peeta. Then again, Gale knows that he has no chance with me, so he does what's necessary to helps us get ready for the coming Games.

One night, when I'm walking Gale back to back to town, he admits, "It would be better if he were easier to hate."

"It changes nothing. Even if I hadn't fallen in love with him, I still couldn't killed Peeta. He grew on me, and killing him like that would have destroyed me." I say.

We walk in silence back to the square. I need Gale to let me go and the feelings that he has for me, which won't be easy, but seeing as how I have don't plan on returning, the sooner he lets me go the easier it will be when I die in the arena. When we get to the square I stop and stare at Gale, and he stares back at me. "Good-bye Gale." I say.

"You think this is the end?" he asks.

"If I don't die in the arena, I'm almost certain to come out like Haymitch." I say, the tears beginning to build. I hug Gale good-bye, and then hurriedly make my way back home. When I get there I open the door, and gently shut it behind me. Peeta steps into the hall, and we just stare at each other. I approach Peeta, and we gaze in each other's eye. His beautiful blues radiate like they did the night of the Opening Ceremonies, and I break down and start to cry. Peeta pulls me in him, and his strong embrace destroys the last of my defenses, until I'm nothing more than a sobbing mess.

Then Peeta does something totally unexpected, but completely welcomed. Peeta tilts my head back and we kiss. This kiss is almost as powerful as the kiss we share the night after the feast last year. The tears are forgotten, and in its place a hunger so strong it consumes both me and Peeta. We don't consummate our relationship, but nevertheless I stay the night. And when the sun rises the next morning it's to the smell of breakfast being cooked. We eat breakfast in silence, and before I could step out the front door Peeta pins me to the wall and we make out. _That was definitely some hot kissing_. I think, fanning myself with my hands as I walk across the lawn to my house. I turn back to see Peeta watching. I blow him a kiss, and then enter my house.

The morning of the reaping is hot and sultry. The population of District 12 waits, sweating and silent, in the square with machine guns trained on them. _It seems that more Peacekeepers showed up recently._ I think. I stand alone in a small roped-off area with Peeta and Haymitch to the right of me. The reaping takes only a minute. Effie, shinning in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girl's reaping ball for a piece of paper that everybody knows that has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch's name. And he barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta volunteered to take his place. I stare off into the distance as a dark thought crosses my mind. _So yet again, we play for blood._

We are immediately marched into the Capitol building to find Head Peacekeeper Thread waiting for us. "New procedure," he says with a smile. We're ushered out the backdoor, into a car, and taken to the train station. There are no cameras on the platform. Haymitch and Effie appear, escorted by guards. Peacekeepers hurry us all onto the train and slam the door. The wheels begin to move.

And I'm left staring out the window, watching District 12 disappear, with all my good-byes still hanging on my lips.


	41. Chapter 41

I remain at the window long after the woods have swallowed up the last glimpse of my home. This time I don't have the slightest hope of returning home. Before my first Games, I promise Prim I'd do whatever I could to win, and now I'd sworn to myself to do all I could to make sure Peeta comes home. I will never reverse this journey. _Dead woman walking._ I think.

I'd actually figure out my last words to my loved ones. How best to close and lock the doors and leave them sad but safely behind. And now the Capitol has stolen that as well. _I should have seen that coming._ I think.

"We'll write letters Katniss," says Peeta from behind me. "It'll better, anyway. Give them a piece of us to hold on to. Haymitch will deliver them for… if need be."

I nod my head and sit on the couch in the room, and Peeta sits with me. I have no tears to cry, I'm to numb to cry even if I wanted to. Given the circumstances of the job in front of me, I will not cry. We chat about what we have do, but in my mind I think about the letters that were to be delivered in the event of my death. I can't write those letters. It will be like trying to write that speech for Rue and Thresh in District 11. Things seemed clear in my head and even in front of the district, but the words never came out right when I put the pen to paper. Besides there were meant to go with embraces and kisses and a stroke of Prim's hair, a hug for my mom, a squeeze of Madge's hand. That's not going to be effective if they're delivered with a long wooden box containing my cold, dead remains.

My only job over the next several weeks is to keep Peeta alive, and to do so in the face of the Capitol's anger is going to be my greatest feat. Ever. We continue talking until Effie comes to collect us for dinner. Peeta is the first to rise after Effie departs. He offers me his hand, and I accept. Peeta pulls me into his strong embrace, and I feel myself go weak in the knees. Peeta kisses me, and I can feel the passion begin to build in my chest. I break before we could miss dinner, and I'm breathing heavily. As I'm working towards the door, Peeta smacks my butt. I let out a yelp, and I instantly turn around and punch Peeta's arm. I playfully glare at Peeta, but he has a big grin on his face. I bite my lower lip, and then we turn to exit the room.

The meal's subdued. So subdued, in fact, that there are long period of silence only relieved by the removal of old dishes and presentation of new one. A cold soup with pureed vegetables. Fish cakes with a creamy lime paste. Those little birds filled with orange sauce, with wild rice and watercress. Chocolate custards dotted with cherries.

Peeta and Effie make occasional attempts at conversation that quickly died. Neither Haymitch are in the mood for chatting.

"I love your new hair, Effie," Peeta says.

"Thank you. I had it especially done to match Katniss's pin. I was thinking we might get you a golden ankle band and maybe find Haymitch a gold bracelet or something so we all could look like a team," says Effie.

I take a few deep breaths like I was about to sneeze, which was an effort to cover up a laugh that almost escaped, but Haymitch was suspicious of my intentions.

Evidently, Effie doesn't know that my mockingjay pin has become a symbol used by the rebels. At least in District 8. In the Capitol, the mockingjay is still a fun reminder of an especially exciting Hunger Games. What else could it be? Real rebels don't put a secret symbol on something as durable as jewelry. They put it on a wafer of bread that could be eaten in a second if necessary.

"I think that's a great idea," says Peeta. "How about it, Haymitch?"

"Yeah, whatever," says Haymitch. He's not drinking but I can tell he wants to be. Effie had them take away her wine when she saw the effort he was making, but he's in a miserable state. If he were the tribute, he would have owed Peeta nothing and could be as drunk as he liked. Now it's going to take all he's got to keep Peeta alive in an arena full of his old friends, and probably fail.

"Maybe we could get you a wig, too," I say in an attempt at lightness. I noticed Peeta look down at his plate in an attempt to cover a smile that I caused, but Haymitch shot me a look that says leave me alone and we all eat our custard in silence.

"Shall we watch the recap of the reapings?" says Effie, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a white linen napkin.

Peeta goes off to retrieve his notebook on the remaining living victors, and we gather in the compartment with the television to see who our competition will be in the arena. We're all in place as the anthem begins to play and the annual recap of the reaping ceremonies in the twelve districts begins.

In the history of the Games, there have been seventy-five victor. Fifty-nine of them are still alive. I recognize many of their faces, either from seeing them as tributes or as mentors at previous Games or from recent viewing of the victor's tapes. Some are so old or wasted away from illness, drugs, or drink that I can't place them. As one would expect, the pools of Career tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 are the largest. But every district manages to scrap up at least one male and one female tribute.

The reapings go by quickly. Peeta studiously puts a star next to the names of chosen tributes in his notebook. Haymitch watches, his face devoid of emotion, as friends of his step up to take the stage. Effie makes hushed, distressed comments like "Oh, not Cecelia" or "Well, Chaff could never stay out of a fight," and sighs infrequently.

For my part, I try to make some mental record of the other tributes, but like last year, only a few stick out in my mind. There's the classically beautiful brother and sister from District 1 who were victors in consecutive years when I was little. _Compared to them, I'm still little._ I think. Brutus, a volunteer from District 2, who must be at least forty and apparently can't get wait to get back in the arena. Finnick, the handsome bronze-haired guy from District 4, who was crowned ten years ago at the age of fourteen. A hysterical young woman with flowing brown hair, is also called from 4, but she is quickly replaced by a volunteer, an eighty-year-old woman who needs a cane to walk to the stage. Then there's Johanna Mason, the only living female victor from 7, who won a few years back by pretending she was a weakling. The woman from 8 who Effie called Cecelia, who looks to be about thirty, has to detach herself from three kids who run up to cling to her. Chaff, a man from 11 who I know to be one of Haymitch's particular friends, is also in.

I'm called. Then Haymitch. And Peeta volunteers. One of the announcers actually gets teary because it seems the odd will never be in our favor, we star-crossed lovers of District 12. Then she pulls herself together to say that "these will be the best Games ever!"

Haymitch leaves the compartment without a word, and Effie, after a few unconnected comments about this tribute or that, bid us good night. I sit there watching Peeta rip out pages of victors who were not picked.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" he says.

My mind is thinking the words, but the words are exiting my mouth without my knowledge. "Because I can't handle the nightmares. Not without you. The nightmares are to be more horrible than before." I say.

Peeta gets up, and offers me his hand. "I can look over my notes later." he says. I take Peeta's hand, and we walk back to my cabin arm in arm. And sure enough a few hours later I awake from a nightmare where that old lady from District 4 had turned into a giant rodent and gnaws on my face. I wake with a start, but I feel Peeta's strong embrace and I begin to relax. I kiss Peeta, and begin to sit up.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I've slept long enough, and we need to get a head start on your notes. Shall I order tea?" I ask.

"That sounds riveting. I could use the boost." Peeta said yawning.

We exit my cabin, and head to the train compartment with the television. I order two teas while Peeta is setting up the tape player so we can go over the videos, but before we sit down to watch the videos we share a quick kiss and the attendant came back with the tea. Peeta drinks his tea straight, whereas, I add honey to my tea. "What was the nightmare about?" Peeta asked setting his tea cup on the coffee table as we sit on the couch.

"It was about that older lady from District 4." I say.

"You haven't even met the woman, and you're already having nightmares about her?" Peeta asks stupefied.

"Shut up!" I say flatly.

"She looks like a sweet old lady." he continues teasing me.

"Babe, keep teasing me. Just watch what will happen." I bluff.

"Don't threaten me with a good time." Peeta says gleefully.

I put the tea cup down next to Peeta's and I launch myself at him. _I know I can't do anything to him, but I'm going to try_. I think, but whatever my thought was it was forgotten because when Ianded on Peeta, he had maneuvered himself so he was on top of me. "Didn't think this through did you?"

"Nope." I say pretending to struggle beneath him.

"Figured. Which means you didn't prepare for this either." Peeta says and then proceeds to tickle me.

 _Seriously! A tickle fight. Who does that?_ I think as I let out a squeal. This went on for thirty seconds when I pull Peeta into me and I sweep—I believe the move is called a sweep—him off of me, and we land on the floor. We find ourselves in the same position from the first night of training, me straddling Peeta. The big difference from the last time is that me and Peeta have been lovers for some time now, and not afraid to show our feeling for each other. I stare, longingly, into Peeta's eyes, and he stares back into mine. I lean in to kiss Peeta, and he returns the kiss.

"Where should we start?" I ask breaking the kiss and sitting on the couch.

You pick." Peeta says joining me on the couch.

We both take a sip of our tea, and then I start looking through the tapes, which are marked with the year of the Games and the victor. I dig around and suddenly find on in my hands that we have not watched. The year of the Games is fifty. That would make it the second Quarter Quell. And the name of the victor is Haymitch Abernathy.

"We never watched this one," I say.

Peeta shakes his head. "No. I knew Haymitch wouldn't want to. The same way we didn't want to relive our own Games. And since we're all on the same team, I didn't think it matter much."

"Is the person who won twenty-five in here?" I ask.

"No. They're probably dead by now, and Effie only sent me victors we might have to face." Peeta weighs Haymitch tape in his hand. "Why, you think we ought to watch it?"

"It's the only Quell we have. It might be for naught, but we might be able to pick up something valuable about how they work." I say. But I feel weird. It seems like a major invasion of Haymitch's privacy. I don't know why it should, since the whole thing was public. But it does. I have to admit I'm also extremely curious. "We don't have to tell Haymitch we saw it."

"Okay." Peeta agrees. He puts the tape in, we both take a sip of our tea, and then we sit back and cuddle as we lose ourselves in the Fiftieth Hunger Games. After anthem, they show President Snow drawing the envelope for the second Quarter Quell. He looks younger but just as repellent. He reads from the square of paper in the same onerous voice he used for ours, informing Panem that in honor of the Quarter Quell, there shall be there will twice the number of tributes. The editors smash cut right into the reapings, where name after name after name is called.

By the time we get to District 12, I'm completely overwhelmed by the sheer number of kids going to certain death. There's a woman, not Effie, calling the names in 12, but she still begins with "Ladies first!" She calls out a girl who's from the Seam, you can tell by the look of her, and then she calls out the name. "Maysilee Donner."

"Oh!" I say. "She was my mother's friend." The camera finds her in the crowd, clinging to two other girls. All blond. All definitely merchants' kids.

"I think that's your mom hugging her," Peeta says quietly. And he's right. As Maysilee Donner disengages herself and heads from the stage, I catch a glimpse of my mom at my age, and no one has exaggerated her beauty. Holding her hand and weeping was another girl who look just like Maysilee. But a lot like someone else I know, too.

"Madge," I say.

"That's her mother. Her and Maysilee were twins, or something," Peeta says. "My dad mentioned it once."

I think of Madge's mother. Mayor Undersee's wife. Who spends half her life in bed immobilized with terrible pain, shutting out the world. I think of how I never realized that she and my mom shared this connection. Of Madge showing up in the snow storm to bring the painkiller for Gale. Of my mockingjay pin and how it means something completely different now that I know that its former owner was Madge's aunt, Maysilee Donner, a tribute who was murdered in the arena.

Haymitch's name is called last of all. It's more of a shock to see him than my mom. Young. Strong. Hard to admit, but he was something of a looker. His hair dark and curly, those gray Seam eyes bright and, even then, dangerous.

"Oh. Peeta, you don't think he killed Maysilee, do you?" I burst out. I don't know why, but I can't stand the thought.

"With forty-eight players? I'd say the odds are against it," says Peeta.

The chariot rides—in which District 12 kids are dressed in awful coal miners outfits—and the interviews flash by. There's little to time to focus on anyone. But since Haymitch is going to victor, we get to see one full exchange between him and Caesar Flickerman, who look the same as he always does in his twinkling midnight blue suit. Only his dark green hair, eyelids, and lips are different.

"So, Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred percent more competitors than usual?" Caesar asks.

Haymitch shrugs. "I don't see that it makes much of a difference. They'll still be one hundred percent stupid as usual, so I find my odds will be roughly the same."

The audience bursts out laughing and Haymitch gives them a half smile. Snarky. Arrogant. Indifferent.

"He didn't have to reach far for that, did he?" I say.

Now it's the morning the Games begin. We watch from the point of view of one of the tributes as she rises up through the tube from the Launch Room and into the arena. I can't help but give a slight gasp. Disbelief is reflected on the players' faces. Even Haymitch's eyebrows lift in pleasure, but almost immediately knit themselves back into a scowl.

It's the most breathtaking place imaginable. The Golden Cornucopia sits in the middle of a green meadow with a patch of gorgeous flowers. The sky is azure with puffy white clouds. Bright songbirds flutter overhead. By the way some tributes are sniffing it must smell fantastic. An aerial shot shows that the meadow stretches on for miles. Far in the distance, in one direction, there seems to be woods, in the other direction, a snowcapped mountain.

The beauty disorients many of the players, because when the gong sounds, most of them are seem like they're trying to wake from a dream. Not Haymitch, though. He's at the Cornucopia, armed with weapons and a backpack filled with choice supplies. He heads for woods before most players stepped off their plates.

Eighteen tributes are killed in the bloodbath that first day. Others begin to die off and it becomes clear that almost everything in this pretty place—the luscious fruit dangling from bushes, the water in the crystalline stream, even the scent of flowers when inhaled too directly—is deadly poisonous. Only the rain water and the food provided at the Cornucopia are safe to consume. There's also a large, well-stock Career pack of ten strong scouring the mountain area for victims.

Haymitch has his own troubles over in the woods, where the fluffy golden squirrels turned out to be carnivorous and attack in packs, and the butterfly stings bring agony if not death. But her persist in moving forward, always keeping the distant mountain at his back.

"Who would have thought that furry woodland creatures could be that dangerous?" I said with a gulp.

"Normally they wouldn't be, but given the circumstances it's a moot point." Peeta said blankly.

"Touché." I say, and we both share a laugh.

Maysilee Donner turns out to be pretty resourceful herself, for when she leaves the Cornucopia it's with a small bag in tow. Inside she finds a bowl, some dried beef, and a blowgun with two dozen darts. Making use of the readily available poisons, she turns the blowgun into a deadly weapon by dipping the darts in a lethal substance and then directing them into her opponent's flesh.

Four days in, the picturesque mountain erupts in a volcano that wipes out another dozen players, including all but five of the Career pack. With the mountain spewing liquid fire, and the meadow offering no means of concealment, the remaining thirteen tributes—including Haymitch and Maysilee—have no choice but to confine themselves to the woods.

Haymitch seems bent on continuing in the same direction, away from the now volcanic mountain, but a maze of tightly woven hedges forces him to circle back into the center of the woods, where he encounters three careers and pulls his knife. They may be bigger and stronger, but Haymitch has remarkable speed and kills two when the third disarms him. That career is about to slit his throat when a dart drops him to the ground.

Maysilee Donner steps out of the woods. "We'd live longer the two of us."

"Guess you just proved that," says Haymitch rubbing his neck. "Allies?" Maysilee nods. And there they are, drawn into one of those pacts you'd be hard pressed to break if you ever you ever expect to go home and face your district. Just like me and Peeta, they do better together. Get more rest, work out a better system to collect more rainwater, fight as a team, and share the food from the dead tributes pack. But Haymitch is determined to keep moving.

"Why?" Maysilee keeps asking, and he ignores her until she refuses to move any further without an answer.

"Because it has to end somewhere." says Haymitch. "It can't go on forever."

"What do you expect to find?" Maysilee asks.

"I don't know. But maybe there's something we could use." he says

When they finally do break through that impossible hedge, using a blow torch from one of the dead Career's packs, they find themselves on flat, dry earth that leads to a cliff. Far below, you can see jagged rocks.

"That's all there is Haymitch. Let's go back," says Maysilee.

"No, I'm staying here," he says.

"Alright. There's only five of us left. May as well be good-bye now," she says. "I don't want it to come down to you and me.

"Okay," he agrees. That's all, he doesn't offer to shake hands or even look at her. And she walks away.

Haymitch skirts along edge of the cliff as if trying to figure something out. His foot dislodges a pebble and it falls into the abyss, apparently gone forever. But a minute later, as he sits down to rest, the pebble shoots back up beside him. Haymitch stares at it, puzzled, and then his face takes on a strange intensity. He lobs a rock the size of his fist over the cliff and waits. When it flies back out and into his hand, he starts laughing.

That's when we hear Maysilee begin to scream. The alliance is over and she broke it off, so no one could blame him for ignoring her. But Haymitch runs for her, anyway. He arrives in time to watch the last of a flock of candy pink birds, equipped with long, thin beaks, skewer her through the throat. He holds her hands as she dies, and all I can think about is Rue and how I couldn't save her, too.

Later that day, another tribute is killed in combat and a third gets eaten by a pack of those fluffy squirrels, leaving Haymitch and a girl from District one to vie for the crown. She's bigger than him and just as fast, and when the inevitable fight comes, it's bloody and awful and both have received what could be fatal wounds, when Haymitch is finally disarmed. He staggers through the beautiful woods, holding his intestines in, while she stumbles after him, carrying the ax that should deliver his deathblow. Haymitch makes a beeline for his cliff and has just reached the cliff when she throws the ax. He collapses on the ground and it flies into the abyss. Now weaponless as well, the girl just stands there, trying to staunch the flow of blood pouring out from her empty eye socket. She's thinking she can probably outlast Haymitch, who's starting to convulse on the ground. But what she doesn't know, but he does, is that the ax will return. And when it flies back over the ledge, it buries itself in her head. The cannon sounds, her body is removed, and the trumpets blow to announce Haymitch's victory.

Peeta clicks off the tape and we sit there in silence for a moment.

Finally Peeta says, "That force field at the bottom of the cliff, it was like the one on the roof of the Training Center. The one that throws you back if you try to commit suicide. Haymitch found a way to turn it into a weapon."

"Not just against the other tributes, but the Capitol, too," I say. "You know they didn't expect that. It wasn't meant to be part of the arena. They never planned anyone to use it as a weapon. It made them look stupid that he figured it out. I bet they had a good time trying to spin that one. Bet that's why I don't remember seeing it on television. It's almost as bad as us and the berries!"

I can't help laughing, really laughing, for the first time in months. Peeta leans away from me like I've lost my mind—and maybe I have, a little.

"Almost, but not quite," says Haymitch from behind us. I whip around, afraid he's going to be angry over us watching his tape, but he just smirks and takes a swig from a bottle of wine. Haymitch isn't tribute, so I don't care that's he's drinking. It's probably better that he does. Just as long he keeps his head about him when we go into the arena, but I'm preoccupied with another feeling.

I've spent all these weeks getting to know who my competitors are, without evening thinking about who my teammates are. Now a new kind of confidences is lighting up in me, because I think I finally understand what who Haymitch is. And I'm beginning to know who I am. And two people who have cause the Capitol so much trouble can think of a way to bring Peeta home alive.


	42. Chapter 42

Having been through prep with Flavius, Venia, and Octavia numerous time, it should just be an old routine to survive. But I haven't anticipated the emotional ordeal that awaits me. At some point during the prep, each of them breaks down into tears at least twice, and Octavia keeps a running whimper throughout the morning. It turns out that they were really attached to me, and the idea of my returning to the arena has undone them. Combine with the fact that by losing me they'll be losing their ticket to all kinds of big social events, particularly my wedding. And the whole thing becomes unbearable. The idea of being strong for someone else hasn't entered their heads, I find myself in the position to console them. Since I'm the one going to the slaughter, it's kind of annoying.

It's interesting, though, when I think of what Peeta said about the Capitol attendant on the train being unhappy about the victors having to fight again. About people in the Capitol not liking it. I still think it will be forgotten once the gong sounds, but it's something of a revelation that those in the Capitol feel anything about us. They certainly don't have a problem watching children being murdered each year. But maybe they know too much about the victors, especially the ones who have been celebrities for ages, to forget we're human beings. It's more like watching your friends die. More like the Games are for those in the districts.

By the time Cinna shows up, I am irritable and exhausted from comforting the prep team, especially because their constant tears are a reminder of real tears being shed back home. Standing there in my thin robe with stinging skin and heart, I know I can't bear one more look of regret. So the moment he walks in the door, I snap, "I swear if you cry, I'll kill you here and now." 

Cinna chuckles. "Had a damp morning?"

"You could wring me out, or at the very least give me a towel," I reply.

Cinna puts an arm around my shoulder and leads me into lunch. "Don't worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself."

"I can't go through that again," I warn him.

"I know. I'll talk to them," says Cinna.

Lunch makes me feel a bit better. Pheasant with a selection of jewel-colored vegetables, and tiny versions of real vegetables swimming in butter, and potatoes mashed with parsley. For desert we dunk chunks of fruit in a pot of melted chocolate, and Cinna has to order a second pot because I just start eating the stuff with a spoon.

"So what are we wearing for the opening ceremonies?" I finally ask as I scrape the second pot clean? "Headlamps or fire?" I know the chariot ride will require Peeta and me to be dressed in something coal related.

"Something along that line," he says.

When it's time to get in my costume for the opening ceremonies, my prep team shows up but Cinna sends them away, saying they've done a spectacular job in the morning, there's nothing left to do. They go off to recover thankfully leaving me in the capable hands of Cinna. He puts up my hair first, in the braided style that my mom introduced him to, then proceeds with my makeup. Last year he used little so people would recognize me when I landed in the arena. But now my face is obscured by the dramatic highlights and dark shadows. High arching eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, smoldering eyes, deep purple lips. The costume looked deceptively simple at first, just a simple black jumpsuit that covers me from the neck down. He places a half crown like the one I received as victor on my head, but it's made of a heavy black metal, not gold. Then he adjusts the light in the room to mimic twilight and press a button just inside the fabric of my wrist. I look down, fascinated, as my ensemble comes to life, first with a soft golden light but gradually transforming to the orange-red of burning coal. I look as if I have been coated in embers—no, that I _am_ a glowing ember straight from our fireplace. The colors rise and fall, shift and blend, in exactly the same way the coals do.

"How did you do this?" I say in wonder.

"Portia and I have spent a lot of hours watching fires," says Cinna. "Now look at yourself."

He turns me toward a mirror so I can take in the entire effect. I do not see a girl, or a woman, but some otherworldly being who looks like she might make her home in the volcano that destroyed so many in Haymitch's Quell. The black crown, which now appears red-hot, casts strange shadows on my dynamically made up face. Katniss, the girl who was on fire, has left behind flickering flames and bejeweled gowns, and soft candle light frocks. She is as deadly as fire itself. _Katniss, the girl who was on fire, eat your heart out!_ I think.

"I think… this is just what I need to face the others," I say.

"Yes, I think the days of pink lipstick and ribbons are behind you," says Cinna. He touches the button on wrist again, extinguishing my light. "Let's not run down your power pack. When you're on the chariot this time, no waving, no smiling. I want you to look straight ahead and act as if this whole thing is beneath you."

"Finally something I'll be good at." I say.

Cinna has a few more things to attend to, so I decide to head down to the ground floor of the Remake Center. I was hoping to find Peeta or Haymitch, but they haven't arrived yet. Unlike last year, when all the tributes were glued to their, the scene is very social. The victors, both this year's tributes and their mentor, are standing around in small groups, talking. Of course, they all know one another and I don't know anyone, and I'm not the type of person to go around introducing myself.

"How'd we get here, huh?" I ask a horse as I stroke its neck trying not to be noticed.

It doesn't work.

The crunching hits my ear before I even know he's next to me, and when I turn my head, Finnick Odair's famous see green eyes are only inches from mine. He pops a sugar cube in his mouth and leans against my horse.

"Hello, Katniss," he says, as if we've known each other for years, which in fact we've never met.

"Hello, Finnick," I say, just as casually, although he's got so much bare skin exposed.

"Want a sugar cube?" he says, offering his hand, which is piled high. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I… well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick."

Finnick Odair is something of a living legend in Panem. Since he won the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games when he was only fourteen, he's still one of the youngest victors. Being from District 4, he was a Career, so the odds were in his favor, but no trainer could claim to give him was his extraordinary beauty. Tall, athletic, with golden skin, and bronze-colored hair and those incredible eyes. While other tributes were hard-pressed to get a handful of grain or some matches for a gift, Finnick never wanted for anything, not food or medicine or weapons. It took a week for his competitors to realize that he was the one to kill, but it was too late. He was already a good fighter with spears and knives he had found in the Cornucopia. When he receive a silver parachute with a trident—which maybe the most expensive gift I've ever seen in the arena—it was all over. District 4's industry is fishing. He'd been on boats all his life. The trident was a natural, deadly extension of his arm. He wove a net out of some vines he found, used it to entangle his opponents so he could spear them with his trident, and within a matter of days the crown was his.

The citizens of the Capitol have been drooling over him ever since. Because of his youth they couldn't touch him for a year or two. But ever since he turn sixteen, he spent his time at the Games being dogged by those who were desperately in love with him. No one retains his favor for long. He can go through four or five in an annual visit. Old or young, rich or very rich, he'll keep them company and take their extravagant gifts, and then leave them, and once he leaves he never comes back.

I can't argue that Finnick is one of the most stunning, sensuous people on the planet. But I can honestly say that I'm attracted to him. Maybe because he's too pretty, or because he's so easy to get, or maybe because he's really that easy to loose.

"No, thanks," I say to the sugar. _I'm not on the menu._ I think. "But I'd love to borrow that outfit sometime."

He's draped in a golden net that's strategically knotted at his groin so he's not technically naked, but he's about as about as close as you can. I'm sure his stylist thought the more of Finnick the audience saw, the better.

"You're absolutely terrifying in that get up. What happen to the pretty little-girl dresses?" he asks. He wets his lips a little with his tongue. Probably drives most people crazy. But all I can think of is old Cray, salivating over some poor, and starving young woman.

"I outgrew them." I say.

Finnick takes the collar of my outfit and runs it between his fingers. "It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you could want."

"I don't like jewels, and I have more money than I'll ever need. What do you spend all yours on, anyways, Finnick?" I say.

"I haven't dealt in anything as common as money for years," says Finnick.

"Then how do people pay for the pleasure of your company?" I ask.

"With secrets," he says softly. He tips his head so close that his lips are almost in contact with mine. "What about you girl on fire? Got any secrets worth my time?"

For some stupide reason, I blush, but I force myself to stand my ground. "No, I'm an open book," I whisper back. "Everybody seems to know my secrets before I do."

He smiles. "Unfortunately, I think that's true." His eyes flicker off to the side. "Peeta is coming. Sorry you has to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must before you." He tosses another sugar cube in his mouth and saunters off.

Peeta's beside me, dressed in an outfit identical to mine. "What did Finnick Odair want?"

I turn and put my lips close to Peeta's and drop my eyelids in an imitation of Finnick. "He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets," I say in my best seductive voice.

Peeta chuckles. "I'll have to get in line."

"Really," I say. "I'll tell you more once my skin stops crawling."

"Do you think we'd have ended up like this if only one of us would have won?" he asks, glancing around at the other victors. "Just another part of their freak show."

"Nice distinction, but I don't regret anything. But to answer the question, sure. Especially you." I say.

"Me?" he asks with a smile.

"You have a weakness for beautiful things and I don't," I say with an air of superiority. "They would lure you to the Capitol and you would be lost for all eternity."

"Having an eye for beauty is not the same thing as weakness," he points out. "Except for when it comes to you."

I pretend to gasp. I even put one hand over my mouth, but my comment is forgotten when the music begins to play, and we see the wide doors opening for the first chariot, hear the roar of the crowd. "Shall we?" He holds out his hand to help me into the chariot.

I climb up and pull him up after me. "Hold still," I say as I straighten his crown. "Have you seen your suit turned on? We're going to be _fabulous_ again."

"Absolutely. But Portia says we're to above it all. No waving or anything," he says. "Where are they anyways?"

"I don't know." I eye the procession of chariots. "Maybe we better go ahead and switch ourselves on." We do, and as we begin to glow, I can see people pointing at us and chanting, and I know once again, that we are the talk of the opening ceremonies. We're almost to the door. I crane my head around, but neither Portia nor Cinna, who were with us right up to the final second last year, are anywhere to be seen. "Are we supposed to hold hands?" I ask.

"I guess they left that up to us." Peeta says.

I look into those blue eyes that no amount of dramatic make up can make truly deadly and I remember how, just a year ago, I was prepared to kill him. Convinced he was trying to kill me. Now everything is reversed. I'm determined to keep him alive, knowing the cost will be my life, but the part of me that is not so brave glad that it's Peeta, not Haymitch, by my side. Our hands find each other without further discussion. Of course we go into this as one.

The voice of the crowd rises into a universal scream as we roll into the fading evening light, but neither one of us reacts. I simply fix my eyes on a point far on the horizon, and pretend there is no audience, no hysteria. I can't help catch glances on the huge screens along the route, and we are not just beautiful, we are dark and powerful. No, more. We star-crossed lovers of District 12, who suffered so much, and enjoyed so little the rewards of our victor, do not seek the fans' favor, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. We are unforgiving.

And I love it. Getting to be myself at last.

As we curve around into the loop of the City Circle, I can see that a couple of other stylists have tried to steal Cinna and Portia's idea illuminating their tributes. The electric-light-studded outfits from District 3, where the make electronics, at least makes sense. But what about the livestock keepers of District 10, who are dressed as cows, doing with flaming belts? _Don't answer that!_ I think.

Peeta and I, on the other hand, are so mesmerizing with our ever-changing coal costumes that most of the other tributes are staring at us. We seem particularly riveting compared to the pair from District 6, who are known as morphling addicts. Both bone thin, with sagging yellowish skin. They can't tear their overlarge eyes, even when President Snow begins to speak from the balcony, welcoming us all to the Quell. The anthem plays, and as we make our final trip around the circle, am I wrong? Or do I see President Snow fixated on me as well?

Peeta and I wait until the doors of the Training Center have closed behind us to relax, and turn our suits off. Cinna and Portia are there, pleased with our performance. I see Haymitch again, but he is over by the chariot with the District 11 tributes, Seeder and Chaff. Haymitch sees us, and the three friends make their way over to us.

I know Chaff by sight because I've spent years watching him passing the bottle back and forth with Haymitch on television. He's dark skinned, about six feet tall, and one of his arms ends in a stump because he lost his hand in the Games he won over thirty years ago. I'm sure they offered him an artificial replacement, like they did Peeta when they had to amputate his lower leg, but I guess he didn't take it.

Seeder looks almost like she could be from the Seam, with her olive skin and straight black hair streaked silver. Only her golden brown eyes mark her from another district. She must be around sixty, but she looks strong, and there's no sign she's turned to liquor or morphling or any other chemical form of escape over the years. Before either of us says a word, she embraces me. I know somehow it must be because of Rue and Thresh. Before I can stop myself, I whisper, "The families?"

"They're alive," she says softly back before letting me go.

"This is Seeder and Chaff." Haymitch says, formally introducing Peeta and me to the District 11 tributes.

Chaff throws his good arm around me and gives me a big kiss right on the mouth. I jerk back, eyebrows shooting skyward, startled while he and Haymitch guffaw.

"He's very friendly. Don't invite them over he'll… uh… drink up your liquor. See you guys soon. Let's get some of that makeup off you, and talk these other Tributes." Haymitch says as we're walking towards the elevator.

"These Tributes are crazy." I whisper to Haymitch while I'm looking over my shoulder making sure Seeder and Chaff were out of ear range.

"No, not all of 'em. He's a good guy. Carry on." Haymitch says, saluting the Peacekeepers stationed next to the elevator.

The elevator doors were shutting when Johanna Mason, female tribute from District 7, stepped on. I school my features not letting on to the fact I do not want to interact with her.

"You guys look amazing." Johanna chirps.

"Thank you." I say. In my peripheral vison I see both Peeta and Haymitch eye this woman cautiously.

Johanna turns her back to the three of us and reaches up to her hair and pulls out the clip and shakes out her hair. "My stylist is such an idiot. District 7. Lumber. Trees."

It didn't occur to me what Johanna was doing as we watch her next move on to the wrist bands, and she removes them. "I'd love to put my ax in her face" she says.

When Johanna mentioned that she wanted to bury an ax in her stylist face, my eyebrows shot skyward. _Someone's woke up on the wrong side of the forest this morning, sheesh!_ I think as Haymitch and I share a look. Peeta was looking at the clips on the floor when I realize what was happening. Johanna is removing her costume on the elevator. How much remains to be seen.

"So what do you think? Now that the whole world wants to sleep with you?" she asks.

I scoff at Johanna's question. "I don't think that the whole world…" I begin but Johanna cuts me off.

"I wasn't talking to you." she snaped.

"Okay." I mutter, looking up at the ceiling.

"Will you unzip?" she asks Peeta turning her back to him, so he could unzip her costume.

Peeta is stupefied by the scene in front of him. "Yeah."

Peeta reaches up to unzip Johanna's outfit. First I glare at Johanna, seeing how back is to me. Then I glare at Peeta, and I ask him with my eyes. _What are you doing?_ Peeta look at me, his body had an air resignation about him. He didn't want to get involved in the argument between me and Johanna. Johanna turns around and steps out of her outfit. She's completely naked except for the forest green slipper. Peeta takes one look at Johanna, and his eyes find a spot on the wall behind her. My eyes were already glued to the wall behind her. Haymitch, on the other hand, was enjoy the striptease. He looked at me, and then back at Johanna, grinning. Johanna fixes her hair, and then looks at the three of us. When she looks at Haymitch, she winks at him. Then the elevator door opened behind her. _THANK GOD THE DUMB BROAD IS LEAVING!_ I think.

"Thanks. Let's do it again sometime." Johanna calls out as she exits the elevator.

"Thank you." Haymitch said after she was gone. He then looks at us and says, "Johanna Mason. District 7."

"Yep." I say.

The elevator shoots up to our floor before any of us speaks, or more appropriately, laughs because when we step off the elevator on our floor Haymitch goes to pour himself a drink, as Peeta breaks out laughing.

"What?" I say, turning on him as we step out on our floor.

"It's you, Katniss. Can't you see?" he says.

"What's me?" I say.

"Why they're all acting like this, Finnick with the sugar cubes and Chaff kissing you and that whole debacle in the elevator with Johanna." Peeta grimaces when he finishes the sentence. He tries to take a more serious tone, unsuccessfully. "They're playing with you because you're so… you know."

"No, I don't know," I say. And I really don't have a clue what's he's talking about.

"It's like when you wouldn't look at me when I was naked in the arena even though I was half dead. You're so… pure," he finally says.

"I am not!" I say. "I've been practically ripping you clothes every chance I get whenever there's a camera around this past year."

"Not that I mind." Peeta says cheekily, and I punch his shoulder. "But… for the Capitol, you're pure." Peeta continues trying to mollify me. "For me, you're perfect. They're just teasing you."

"No, they're laughing at me. And so are you!" I counter.

"No." Peeta shakes his head, but he's suppressing a smile. I'm seriously rethinking the question of who should make it out of these Games alive when the other elevator opens.

I missed Haymitch returning from the bar as Effie steps off the elevator. They look please about something. Then Haymitch's face grows hard.

 _What did I do now?_ I almost say, but I see him staring behind me at the entrance to the dining room. 

Effie blinks in the same direction, and then says brightly, "Looks like we have a matching set this year."

I turn around and see the redheaded Avox girl who tended me last year until the Games began. I think how it's nice to have a friend here. I noticed that a young man beside, another Avox, also has red hair. That must be what Effie meant by matched set.

Then a chill runs through me. Because I know him too. Not from the Capitol but from years of having easy conversations in the Hob, joking over Greasy Saw's soup, and that last day watching him lie unconscious in the square while the life bled out of Gale.

Our new Avox is Darius.


	43. Chapter 43

Haymitch grips at my wrist as if anticipating my next move, but I am speechless at how the Capitol's torturers have render Darius. Haymitch told me they cut out an Avoxes' tongue because they were traitors. _And interfering in the whipping of convicted criminal would be consider traitorous_. I think. In my head I hear Darius's voice, playful and bright, ringing across the Hob to tease me. Not as my fellow victors make fun of me now, but because we genuinely like each other. If Gale could see him now…

I know if I make any move to acknowledge Darius would result in punishment for him. We just stare at each other. Darius, a mute slave, and I'm headed to my death; what is there to say to each other. Sorry for your lot? That we ache for each other's pain? That we were glad to have the chance to know each other? I think.

No Darius shouldn't be happy to know me. If had been there to stop Thread, he wouldn't step forward to save Gale. Wouldn't be an Avox. Knowing President Snow he made an Avox, not my Avox, but an Avox none the less to further my punishment for ruining everything.

I twist my wrist from Haymitch's grasp and head down the hall to my old bedroom, locking the door behind me. I sit on the bed, elbows on my knees, forehead on my fist. I press the button again and watch the glowing suit in the darkness, imagining my old home in District 12, huddled by the fire. It slowly fades back to black as the power pack fades out.

When Effie eventually knocks on the door to summon me for dinner, I get up to take my suit off, fold it neatly on the table with my crown. In the bathroom I wash the dark streaks of makeup from my face. I dress in a simple shirt and pants and go the hall to the dining room.

I'm not aware of much at dinner except Darius and the redheaded Avox girl are our servers. Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, Portia, and Peeta are all there, talking about the opening ceremonies, I suppose. But the only time I feel present is when I purposely knock a dish of peas to the floor and, before anyone can stop me, crouch down to clean them up. Darius is right beside me when I send the dish over, and we two are briefly side by side, obscured from view, as we scoop up the peas. I can feel his skin, rough under the buttery sauce from the dish. In the tight, desperate clench of our fingers are all the words we will never say. Then Effie's clucking behind me about how "That's not your job, Katniss!" and he lets go.

When we go in to watch the recap of the opening ceremonies, I wedge myself between Cinna and Haymitch on the couch because I don't want to be next to Peeta. Jokingly though, I point to my eyes, and then I point at Peeta. And without missing a beat, Peeta pretends to gasp at my implications, which I snicker at. This awfulness involving Darius belongs to me and Gale and maybe even Haymitch, but not Peeta. He might've known Darius to nod hello, but Peeta wasn't Hob the way the rest of us were. My anger with Peeta for siding with the rest of the victors and laughing at me is beginning to subsided, and I'm starting to feel shame earlier for rethinking who should come out of the arena alive.

As I watch the procession to the City Circle, I think of how it's bad enough that they dress us up in costumes and parade us through the streets on a regular year. Kids in costumes are silly, but aging victors, it turns out, are quite pitiful. With the exception of Johanna and Finnick whose bodies haven't fallen into disrepair, like Seeder and Brutus, can still manage to maintain some dignity. But the majority, who are in the clutches of drink or morphling or illness, are grotesque looking in their costumes, depicting cows and trees and loaves of bread. Last year we chatted away about each contestant, but tonight there's only an occasional comment. It's no wonder the crowd goes wild when Peeta and I come out, looking so young and strong and beautiful in our brilliant costumes. The very imagine of what a tribute should be.

As soon as it's over, I stand up and thank Cinna and Portia for their amazing work and head off to bed. Effie calls to remind me of an early morning meeting to work on our strategy over breakfast, but even her voice sounds hollow. Poor Effie. She finally had a decent year with me and Peeta, and it's now all broken down into a mess that even she can't put a positive spin on. I'm guessing this counts as a true tragedy.

Soon after I go to bed, there's a knock on the door. I want to ignore it, but sooner or later I'm going to have talk to Peeta. I open the door, and let Peeta in.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Other than having an old friend turned into a mute slave, and serving us food for the rest of his life, everything's peachy." I said.

"Is it?" Peeta asks sternly.

I delay my answer just a beat. "My feelings might still be a bit raw from the other victors picking with me." I said.

"I noticed that you said the other victors, and not me." He said.

"I pretty sure our antics before the recap should have been a test of my feelings." I said.

"I'm sorry for laughing at you earlier. Even though the Capitol expected you to some two-bit floozy, hanging off of me every second you get, you are still pure. Everything from the way you look at me, to the gentle caresses, is way too natural to be fake." Peeta said.

"Who are you calling a floozy? This coming from the man who didn't want to die as some pawn of the Capitol." I said nonchalantly. All Peeta could do was shrug his shoulders. We look in each other's eyes, and then we kiss good night. My dreams are haunted by nightmares, and seeing as how a nearby friend who is a mute, the nightmares are about tongues. Tongues of fire to be exact. First I watch frozen and helpless as a gloved hand carries outs the bloody dissection in Daruis' mouth. Then I'm at party where everyone is wearing masks and someone with a flicking wet tongue, who I suppose is Finnick, stalks me, but when he catches me and pulls off his mask, it's President Snow, and his puffy lips are dripping in wet saliva. Finally I'm back in the arena, my own tongue is dry as sandpaper, while I try to reach for a pool of water that recedes every time I true to reach for it.

When I wake, I stumble to the bathroom and gulp water from the faucet until I can hold no more. I strip off my sweaty clothes and fall back to sleep, naked, and find sleep somehow.

I delay going down to breakfast as long as possible because I really don't want to discuss our training strategy. What's to discuss? Every victor knows what everybody else can do. Or used to be able to do, anyway. So Peeta and I will continue to be in love, and that will be it. Somehow I'm not up to talking about, especially with Darius standing by mutely. I take a long shower, dress slowly in the outfit Cinna has left for training, and order food from the menu in the room by speaking into a mouthpiece.

In minutes, sausage, eggs, potatoes, bread, juice, and hot chocolate appear. I eat my fill trying to drag out the minutes until ten o'clock. By nine-thirty, Haymitch is pounding on my door, obviously fed up with me, ordering me to the dining room NOW! Still, I brush my teeth and meandering down the hall, effectively killing five minutes.

The dining rooms empty except Peeta and Haymitch, whose face is flush with anger and drink. On his wrist he wears a solid-gold bangle with a pattern of flames—this must be his concession to Effie's matching token plan—that he twists unhappily. It's very handsome bangle, really, but from the way he's twisting it the movement makes it seem like a shackle, rather than a piece of jewelry. _For Haymitch it might was well be a shackle._ I think.

"You're late," he snarls at me.

"Sorry. I slept in after the mutilated-tongue nightmares had kept me up half the night." I said trying to sound hostile, but my voice catches at the end of the sentence.

Haymitch gives me a scowl, then relents. "All right, never mind. Today, in training you have two jobs. One, stay in love."

"That goes without saying." I say.

"And two. Make some friends," says Haymitch.

"No." I say. "I don't trust any of them, and I can't stand most of them, and I would rather operate with just the two of us."

"That's what I said at first, but—" Peeta begins.

"But it won't be enough," Haymitch insists. "You're going to need more allies this time around."

"Why?" I ask

"Because you at a distinct disadvantage. Your competitors have known each other for years. So who do you think they're going to target first?" he says.

"Us. And nothing we do is going to trump old friendships. So why should we bother?" I ask.

"Because you can fight. You're popular with the crowd. That could make you desirable allies. But only if you're willing to let the others that you're willing to team up with them," says Haymitch.

"You mean you want us in the Career pack?" I ask, not attempting to hide my disgust. Traditionally the tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 join forces, possibly taking in few other exceptional fighters, and hunt down the weaker competitors.

"That's been our strategy, hasn't it? To train like Careers?" counters Haymitch. "And who makes up the Career pack is usually decide upon before the Games begins. Peeta barely got in with them last year."

I remember, all too well, the loathing I felt when I discovered Peeta was with the Careers during the last Games. "So we're to try to get in with Finnick and Brutus—is that what you're saying?" I ask.

"Not necessarily. Everyone's a victor. Make your own pack if you prefer. Choose who you like. I'd suggest Chaff and Seeder. Although Finnick's not to be ignored," says Haymitch. "Find someone to team up with who might be of some use to you. Remember, you're not in a ring full of trembling children anymore. These people are all experienced killers, no matter what shape they appear to be in."

Maybe he's right. Only who could I trust? Seeder maybe. But do I really want to make a pact with her, only to possibly have to kill her later. No, still, I made a pact with Rue under the same circumstances. I tell Haymitch that I'll try, even though I'll be pretty bad at the whole thing.

Effie shows up a bit early to take us down like last year, even though we're on time, we were the last two tributes to show. But Haymitch tells her he doesn't want her taking us down to the gym. None of the other victors will be showing up with a babysitter, and being the youngest, it's important we look self-reliant. So she has to satisfy herself with taking us to the elevator, fussing over our hair, and pushing the button for us.

It's a short ride that there's no real time to talk, but Peeta takes my hand, and I kiss Peeta on the lips. As I pull away from kissing Peeta, I prepare myself the day of training ahead.

Effie didn't have to worry about us being the last to arrive. Only Brutus and the woman rom District 2, Enobaria, are present. Enobaria looks to be about thirty and all I can remember about her is in hand-to-hand combat, she killed on tribute by ripping open his throat with her teeth. She became so famous for that act, that after she was a victor, she had her teeth cosmetically altered so each one ends in a sharp point like a fang and is inlaid with gold. She has no shortage of admirers in the Capitol.

By ten o'clock, only about half the tributes had shown up. Atala, the woman who runs training, begins her spiel right on time, unfazed by the poor attendance. Maybe she expected it. I'm sort of relieved, because that means there are a dozen people I don't have to pretend to make friends with. Atala runs through a list of stations, both combat and survival, and release us to train.

I tell Peeta we should split up, and cover more ground that way. Peeta grabs my hand, giving it a quick squeeze, and the goes off to chuck spears with Brutus and Chaff, I head over to the knot-tying station. Hardly anyone bothers to visit it. I remember the trainer and he's very fond of me, probably because I spent time with him last year. He's pleased when I show him I can still set the trap that leaves an enemy dangling by their foot from a tree. It's obvious he took a few notes from my time in the arena last year because he has picked up a few of my snares, so now he sees me as an advance pupil. I ask him to review every knot that my come in handy, and then some I may never use. I'd be content to spend the morning alone with him, but after an hour and a half, someone puts his arms around me from behind, his fingers easily finishing the knot I've been sweating over. Of course it's Finnick, who seems to have spent his childhood doing nothing but wielding tridents, and manipulating ropes into fancy knots for nets, I guess. I watch for a minute while he picks up a length of rope, makes a noose, and then place the noose around his neck, tightening the knot. "Do you want to take me for a walk?" Finnick asks handing me the opposite end of the rope.

Rolling my eyes, I head over to a vacant station where tributes can learn to build fire. I already excel at building fires, but I'm still dependent on matches to start them. So the trainer has me working with flint, steel, and some charred cloth. This is much harder than it looks and even working intently as I can, it takes me about an hour to get a fire going. I look up with a triumphant smile only to find I have company.

The two tributes from District 3 are beside me, struggling to start a decent fire with matches. I think about leaving, but I want to work with the flint again, and if I have to report back to Haymitch that I tried to make friends, these two might be bearable choice. Both are small in stature with ashen skin and dark hair. The woman, Wiress, is probably around my mom's age and speaks in a quiet, intelligent voice. But right away I noticed that she has a habit of dropping off her words in mid-sentence, as if she's forgotten you're there. Beetee, the man, is older and somewhat fidgety. He wears glasses but spends a lot of the time looking under them. They're a little strange, but I'm pretty sure neither of them are going to make me uncomfortable by stripping naked. And they're from District 3. Maybe they can confirm my suspicion of an uprising there.

I glance around the Training Center. Peeta is at the center of a ribald circle of knife throwers. The morphlings from District 6 are in the camouflage station, paint each other's faces with bright pink swirls. The male from District 5 is vomiting wine on the sword fighting floor. Finnick and the old woman from his district are using the archery station. Johanna Mason is naked again and oiling her skin down for a wrestling lesson. I decide to stay put.

Wiress and Beetee make decent company. They seem friendly enough but don't pry. We talk about our talents, they tell me they both invent things, which makes my supposed interest in fashion seem weak. Wiress brings up some sort of stitching device she's working on.

"It senses the density of the fabric and selects the strength," she says, and then becomes absorbed by a bit piece of dry straw before she can go on.

"The strength of thread," Beetee finishes explaining. "Automatically. It rules out human error." Then he talks about his recent success creating a musical chip that's tiny enough to be concealed in a flake of glitter but can hold hours of songs. I remember Octavia talking about this during the wedding shoot, and I see a possible chance to allude to the uprising.

"Oh, yeah. My prep team was upset a few months ago, I think, because they couldn't get their hands on that," I say causally. "I guess a lot of orders from District Three are getting backed up."

Beetee examines me under his glasses. "Yes. Did you have a similar backups in coal production this year?" he asks.

"No. Well, we lost a couple of weeks when they brought in a New Head Peacekeeper and his crew, but nothing major," I say. "To production, I mean. Two weeks sitting around your house doing nothing just means two weeks of being hungry for most people."

I think they understand what I trying to say. That we had no uprising. "Oh. That's a shame," Wiress says in a slightly disappointed voice. "I found your district very…" She trails off distracted by something in her head.

"Interesting." fills in Beetee. "We both did."

I feel bad, knowing that there district suffered worse than ours. I feel I have to defend my people. "Well, there aren't that many of us in Twelve," I say. "Not that you know it by the size of the Peacekeeper force. But I guess we're interesting enough."

As we move over to the shelter, Wiress stops and gazes up at the stands where the Gamemakers are roaming around, eating and drinking, sometimes taking notice of us. "Look," she says, giving her head a slight nod in their direction. I look up to see Plutarch dressed in a magnificent purple with a fur-trimmed collar that designates him Head Gamemaker. He's eating a turkey leg.

"I don't see why this merits comment, but I say, "Yes, he's promoted Head Gamemaker this year."

"No, no. There in the corner by the table. You can just…" Wiress says.

Beetee squints under his glasses. "Just make it out."

I stare in that direction, perplexed. But then I see it. A patch of space six inches square at the corner of the table seems almost vibrating. It's as if the air is rippling in tiny waves, distorting the sharp edges of the wood and a goblet of wine someone set there.

"A force field. They setup up between the tributes and the Gamemakers. I wonder what brought that on," says Beetee.

"Me, probably," I confess. "Last year I shot an arrow at them during my private training session." Beetee and Wiress look at me curiously, and I don't feel the need to defend myself. "So, do all the force fields have a spot like that?"

"Chink," Wiress says vaguely.

"In the armor, as it were," finishes Beetee. "Ideally it would be invisible, wouldn't?" I look around and I notice a few of the lights flickering, and I noticed one of the holograms take a stutter step, that is it shut down and turned on again, ever so faintly.

I wanted to ask them more, but lunched was announced. I look for Peeta and see that he's with a group of ten other victors, so I let him be. I know him, and how he operates, so I leave him be and decide to eat with District 3, maybe I could get Seeder to join us. When we make our way into the dining area, I see some of Peeta's gang has other ideas. They're dragging all the smaller tables to form one large table so we all have to eat together. Now I have no clue what to do. At school I would do what I could to avoid eating at a crowded table. I preferred to eat alone, and I usually did if Madge hadn't made a habit of joining me. I think of how the victors have been picking with me, and how I'm the flower of the Capitol, but more importantly I think of how the leadership of the Capitol would not be happy if they saw the camaraderie. I think of how this would piss Snow off to no end, so I decide to put my personal feelings aside and join the table, but I decide to sit towards one of the ends.

I take a tray and make my way around the food-laden carts that ring the room. Peeta catches up with me at the stew. "How's it going?"

"Good. Fine. I like the District Three victors," I say. "Wiress and Beetee."

Peeta looks away and studies the victors in question. I wait for him to look back at me before speaking again. "And?" I ask.

"I'm trying to see them from a different perspective." he says.

"Different perspective?" I ask.

"The word running through the group is those two are a bit of a joke, but you always did have your sights on the outcast." he said.

"Oh." I said.

"Johanna was working at a station that I was at earlier and said that their nicknames were Nuts and Volts, I haven't interacted with the pair, but I know why Beetee is called Volts." he said.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"I don't remember the number, but Beetee killed upwards of ten people or more, I think, by setting an electrical trap during his Games." he said.

"Wiress may be off her game, but she spotted a force field protect the Gamemakers. The pair are also inventors." I said.

"If you want to be allies with them that's okay, but Beetee needs protection until he can set his trap. We're going to need at least one more front line fighter." he said.

"I'd rather not have allies. I rather it be the two of us." I said.

"We don't have to team with any of other victor. We can just take off on our own." Peeta said.

"I know, but I also know that Haymitch is right about needing allies." I say. "Don't tell Haymitch I said that, because he usually is, where the Games are concerned."

"Well, you can have final say about our allies. But right now, I'm leaning towards Seeder and Chaff," says Peeta.

"I'm okay with Seeder, but I'm still on the fence about Chaff." I say.

"Come eat with him. I promise, I won't let him kiss you again." Peeta says.

"If there's any kissing being done, you better be involved." I say.

I heard Peeta inhale sharply as he was about to make a witty retort, but I cut him off. "Zip it." I said, to which Peeta just laughs.

Chaff doesn't seem as bad at lunch. He's sober, and while he talks loudly and tells a lot of bad jokes, mostly at his expense. I can see why he would be good for Haymitch, whose thoughts run so darkly. But I'm sure I'm ready to team up with him.

I try to be more sociable after lunch, not just with Chaff but the group at large. After lunch I do the edible insect station with the District 8 tributes—Cecelia, who's got three kids at home, and Woof, a really old guy who's hard of hearing and doesn't know what's going because he keeps trying to stuff a poisonous bug in his mouth. I wish I could mention meeting Bonnie and Twill in the woods, but I don't know how to tell them. Cashmere and Gloss, the sister and brother duo from District 1 invite, me over and we make hammocks for a while. They're polite but cool, and I spend the whole time thinking about how I killed both of their tributes from their district, Marvel and Glimmer, last year, and that they probably knew them and might even have been their mentors. Both my hammock and my attempt to connect with them are mediocre at best. I join Enobaria at sword training and exchange a few comments, but it's clear neither of us want to team up. Finnick appears again when I'm picking up fishing tips, but it's mostly to introduce me to Mags, the elderly woman who's also from District 4.

Between her district accent and her garbled speech—she possibly had a stroke—I can only make out one in four words. But I swear she can make a fishhook out of anything—a thorn, a wishbone, an earring. After a while I tune out the trainer and simply try to copy whatever Mags does. When I make a pretty good hook out of a bent nail and fasten it to some strands of my hair, she gives me a toothy smile and an unintelligible comment I think might be praise. Suddenly I remember how she volunteered to save the young, hysterical girl in her district. It couldn't be because she thinks she has a chance of winning. She did it to save that girl, just like I volunteered to save Prim last year. And I decide I want her on my team.

 _Great! Now I have to go back and tell Haymitch that I want an eighty-year old and Nuts and Volts for allies. He'll love that._ I think.

So I give up trying to make friends and head over to the archery range for some sanity. It's wonderful there, getting to try out different bows and arrows. The trainer, Tax, seeing that standing targets offer no challenge for me, begins to launch fake silly birds into the air for me to hit. At first it seems silly, but it turns out to be fun. Much more like hunting a moving creature. Since I'm hitting everything he's throwing up, he increases the number birds he sends airborne. I forget the rest of the gym and the victors and how miserable I am and lose myself in the shooting. When I manage to take down five birds in one round, I realize that it's so quiet I could hear each one hit the ground. I turn to see that a majority of the victors have stop to watch me. Their faces show everything from envy to hatred to admiration.

After training Peeta and I hang out, waiting for Effie and Haymitch to show for dinner. Peeta and I's make out session had been interrupted when we were called for dinner. I fear that this passion that we feel for each other might consume us one day. As we're sitting down to eat, Haymitch pounces on me immediately. "So half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally. I know it can't be your sunny personality."

I had a witty retort to Haymitch's barb, but Peeta cuts in smiling. "They saw her shoot. Actually, I saw her shoot, for real, for the first time. I'm about to put in a formal request myself."

"Peeta, baby, we're a packaged deal. I'm not going in that arena without you watching my back." I say, without realizing that I called Peeta baby.

"Never mind." Peeta said smiling brightly.

"You're that good?" Haymitch asked, not missing my term of endearment. "So good that Brutus wants you."

I shrug. "But I don't want Brutus. I want Mags and District Three."

"Of course you do." Haymitch sighs and orders a bottle of wine. "I'll tell them you're still making up your mind."

"I'd hold old off on that." Peeta says.

"Oh." Haymitch says with raised eyebrows.

"Ask me after dinner." Peeta said. The night passes, and I forget about Peeta and Haymitch's discussion.

After my shooting exhibition, I still get teased a bit, but I no longer feel like I'm being mocked. In fact, I feel like I finally joined the victor's circle. During the next two days, I spend time with everyone heading into the arena. Even the morphlings, who, with Peeta's help, paint me into a field of yellow flowers. Even Finnick, who gives me an hour of trident lessons in exchange for an hour of archery instruction. _Finnick has become more bearable since yesterday._ I think, but the more time I spend with these people, the worse it gets. Because, on a whole, I don't hate them. Some I like. And a lot them are so damaged that my natural instinct would be to protect them. But all of them must die if I'm to save Peeta.

The final day of training ends with our private sessions. We each get fifteen minutes before the Gamemakers to amaze them with our skill, but I don't know what any of us might show them. There's a lot of kidding about it at lunch. What we might do. Sing, dance, strip, tell jokes. Mags, who I can understand a little better now, decides she's just going to take a nap. I don't know what I'm going to do. Shoot some arrows, I guess. Haymitch said to surprise them if we could, but I'm fresh out of ideas.

As the girl from 12, I'm scheduled to go last. The dining room grows quieter and quieter as the tributes file out to go preform. It's easier to keep up the irreverent, invincible manner we've all adopted when there are more of us. As people disappear through the door, all I can think is that they have a matter of days left to live.

Peeta and I are finally left alone. He reaches across the table to take my hands. "Decided what to do for the Gamemakers?"

I shake my head. "I can't really use them for target practice this year, with the force field up and all. Maybe make some fishhooks. What about you?"

"Not a clue. I keep wishing I could bake a cake or something," he says.

"Why don't you do something with camouflage," I suggest.

"If the morphlings have let me anything to work with," he says wryly. "They've been glued to that station since training started."

We sit in silence a while and then I blurt out the thing on both our minds. "How are we going to kill these people, Peeta?"

"I don't know." He leans his forehead down on our intertwined hands.

"I don't want them as allies. Why did Haymitch want us to get to know them?" I say. "It'll make this so much harder than last time. Except for Rue maybe. But I guess I could've never really killed her, anyway. She was too much like Prim."

Peeta looks up at me, brow creased in thought. "Her death was the most despicable, wasn't it?"

"None of them were pretty," I say thinking of Glimmer's and Cato's end.

They call Peeta, so then I wait by myself. Fifteen minutes pass. Then half an hour. It's close to forty minutes before I'm called.

When I go in, I smell the sharp odor of cleaner and notice one of the mats has been dragged to the center of the room. The mood is very different from last year's, when the Gamemakers were half drunk and distractedly picking at tidbits from the banquet table. They whisper amongst themselves, looking somewhat annoyed. What did Peeta do? Something to upset them?

I feel a pang of worry. That isn't good. I don't want Peeta singling himself out as a target for the Gamemakers' anger. That's my job. To draw fire away from Peeta. But how did he upset them? I would love to do that and more. To break that smug veneer of those who use their brains to find amusing ways to kill us. To make them realize that while we are vulnerable to the Capitol's cruelties, so are they.

 _Do you have any idea how much I hate you? You, who have given your talents to the Games._ I think.

I try to catch Plutarch Heavensbee's eye, but he seems to be intentionally ignoring me. I remember how he sought me out for a dance, how he was please to show me the mockingjay on his watch. His friendly manner has no place here. How could it, when I'm a merely a tribute and he's the Head Gamemaker? So powerful, so removed, so safe…

Suddenly I know just what I'm going to do. Something that is going to blow whatever Peeta did right out of the water. I go over to the knot-tying station and get a length of rope. I start to manipulate the rope, but it's hard because I've never made this knot. I've only watch Finnick's clever fingers, and they moved so fast. After about ten minutes, I had a respectable noose. I drag one of the target dummies out into the middle of the room and, using one of the chinning bars, hang it so it dangles around the neck. Tying the hands behind its back would be a nice touch, but I think I might be run out of time. I hurry over to the camouflage station, where other tributes, undoubtedly the morphlings, have made a colossal mess. But I find a partial container of bloodred berry juice that will serve my needs. The flesh-colored fabric of the dummies skin makes a good, absorbent canvas. I carefully finger paint the words on its body, concealing them from view. Then I quickly step away to watch the reactions of the Gamemakers' faces as they read the name on the dummy.

 _SENECA CRANE._


	44. Memoires of Just a Kiss

The effect on the Gamemakers is immediate and satisfying. Several let out small shrieks. Others lose their grips on their wineglasses, which shatter musically against the ground. Two seem to be considering fainting. The look of shock is unanimous.

I give a look to Plutarch that says _Now that I have you attention_. And to my great surprise, Plutarch isn't even fazed by my display. _He's good._ I think, but then I see the peach in his hand. The juices from the fruit are trickling between his fingers. _But not that good._ I think.

Plutarch finds his voice, but clears his throat first. "You may go, Miss Everdeen."

I give another theatrical bow, and then exit the room tossing the berry juice container on the nearest table as I'm exiting the room. I hear the container slide across the table, and fall on the floor. I hear the contents spill out onto the floor, as a few more wineglasses shatter. As the elevator doors close, I see that no one has moved.

 _That surprised them._ I think. It was rash and dangerous, and I know that I will pay for it ten times over. But for the moment, I feel something close to elation and I let myself savor it.

I want to find Haymitch and tell him about my session, no one's around. I guess they're getting ready for dinner and I decide to take a shower myself, since my hands are still covered in the berry juice. As I stand in the water I begin wonder about the wisdom of my latest trick. The question that should now be my guide is "How will this help Peeta stay alive?" Indirectly, this might not. What happens in training is highly secretive, so there's no point in taking action against me when no one will know my transgression was. In fact, last year I was reward for my brashness. This is a different sort of crime, though. _Wait a minute. Is it a crime? Is it a crime to let onto the fact that I know that Seneca Crane was murdered? I guess I did suggest that they are still able to die, but what could they possibly do to me? That's guaranteed the moment the gong sounds in the arena._ I think.

If the Gamemakers are angry at me and decide to punish me in the arena, Peeta could get caught up in the attack as well. Maybe it was too impulsive... but I can't say that I'm sorry.

As we gather for dinner I see that Peeta's hands are still slightly stained from all the dyes that he used, even though his hair is slightly damp from bathing. He must have done some form of camouflage after all. _Or he used the dyes, and his head is stained because he was wiping sweat off of his head, and the transferred when he was wiping sweat._ I think. Once the soup is served, Haymitch gets right to the issue that is on everybody's mind. "All right, how did your private sessions go?"

I exchange a look with Peeta. I'm not feeling all too eager to put what I did into words. Given the calm nature of the dining room, it's very extreme. "You first," I say to him. "It must have been something really special. I had to wait for forty minutes before I could go in."

Peeta must have been struck with the same reluctance I'm experience. He looks me in the eyes, and, through my eyes, _I tell him that I have him beat_. _Whatever he did_. Peeta laughs, and begins to speak. "Well I—I did the camouflage thing, like you suggested, Katniss." He says. "Not exactly camouflage. I mean, I used the dyes."

"To do what?" Portia asks.

I think of how ruffled the Gamemakers were when I entered the gym for my session. The smell of the cleaners. The mat pulled over that spot in center of the gym. Was it to conceal something they were unable to wash away? "You painted a picture, didn't you?"

"Did you see it?" Peeta asks.

"No, but they made a point of covering it up," I say.

"Well, that would be standard. They can't let one tribute know what another did," says Effie, unconcerned. "What did you paint, Peeta?" She looks a little misty. "Was it a picture of Katniss?"

"Doubtful. Whatever he painted was enough to ruffle the Gamemakers feathers." I said.

"Why, not? He could have painted the picture to show he's going to do everything he can to defend you. That's what the Capitol is expecting, anyway. Didn't he volunteer to go in with you?" Effie says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Actually, I painted a picture of Rue," Peeta says. "How she looked after Katniss had covered her in flowers."

There's a long pause at the table while everybody absorbs this. Everybody stares blankly at Peeta, but when Peeta looks at me I have a devilish grin on my face. "What exactly were you trying to accomplish?" Haymitch asks in a measured tone, to which, all I could do was stare blankly at Haymitch, which he didn't miss. _What could the Gamemakers possible do to Peeta?_ I think.

"Not sure. I just wanted to hold them accountable for murdering that little girl, if only for a moment." Peeta says.

"This is dreadful." Effie sounds like she'd about to cry. "That sort of thinking is forbidden, Peeta. Absolutely. You'll only bring down more trouble for yourself and Katniss."

"I have to agree with Effie on this one," Haymitch says. Portia and Cinna remain silent, but their faces are very serious. They may be right, which they usually are, but I think Peeta did the right thing. A part of my old personality resurfaced, the rebellious part, and challenged Haymitch, openly. "What's the worst the Gamemakers can do to him?" I asked. "Kill Peeta? What do you think is going to happen in three days' time?"

"Don't make it worse than it already is Katniss." Haymitch said.

I miss Peeta taking a drink as I answered. "I guess it's a bad time to mention I hung a dummy and wrote Seneca Crane on it." I say defiantly and nonchalantly, as if it was normal to talk about people who had been executed.

Peeta started choking on his drink, and I helped him clear his passages of the offending liquid. "Better?" I asked.

"Touché." was all Peeta said. I looked back to see that all the adults were staring at me in shock, horror, and disapproval.

"You… hung… Seneca Crane?" Cinna says.

"Yes. I was showing off my new knot-tying skills, and he somehow ended up at the end of a noose," I say.

"Oh, Katniss," says Effie in a hushed voice. "How do you even know about that?"

"Is it a secret? President Snow didn't act like it was. In fact, he seemed eager for me to know." I say. Effie leaves the table with her napkin pressed to her face. "Now I've upset Effie. I should have lied and said that I shot some arrows."

"You'd have thought we planned this." Peeta says, giving me the hint of a smile.

"Didn't you?" Portia asks. Her fingers pressed to her closed eyelids, as if she was trying to block out a bright light.

"No," I say, looking at Peeta with a new sense of appreciation. "Neither one of knew what the other was going to do before going in."

"And, Haymitch?" Peeta says. "We decided we don't want any other allies in the arena."

"Good. Then I won't be responsible for you get any of my friends killed by your stupidity." Haymitch says.

"That's just what we were thinking." I say, but I know Haymitch. He's still going to talk some of the other victors into working with us.

We finish the meal in silence, but when we rise to go into the sitting room, Cinna puts arm around me and gives me a gentle squeeze. "Come on. Let's go get those training score."

We gather around a television set and a red-eyed Effie joins us. The tribute's faces come up, district by district, their scores flash under their pictures. One through twelve. Predictably high scores for Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus, Enobaria, and Finnick. Low to medium for the rest.

"Have they ever given a zero?" I asked.

"No, but there's a first time for everything." Cinna said.

And it turns out he's right. Because Peeta and I make Hunger Games history when we both pull a twelve. No one feels like celebrating, though.

"Why did they do it?" I asked.

"So that the others would have no choice but to target you," Haymitch says flatly. "Go to bed. I can't stand to look at either of you."

Peeta walks me down to my room in silence, but before he can say good night, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. "I'm sorry if I made things worse," I say.

"No worse than I did. Why did you do it, anyways?" he says.

"I don't know. To show them that I'm more than just a piece in there Games?" I say.

He laughs a little, no doubt remembering the night before the Games last year. We were on the roof, neither of us able to sleep. Peeta had said something of the sort then, but I hadn't understood what he meant. Now I do.

"Me, too," he tells me. "And I'm not saying I'm not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I'm being perfectly honest about it…"

"If you're perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct order to make sure we die in the arena anyway," I say.

"It's crossed my mind," says Peeta.

 _It's crossed my mind too._ I think.

"If I'm being perfectly honest, President Snow probably told the Gamemakers to make an attempt to kill me; whereas, with you he gave the direct order to kill you within the first ten seconds of the opening gong." Peeta teased.

I lightly punched Peeta, a knee-jerk reaction, but he took it in stride. Although I know that I won't leave the arena alive, I hold onto hope that Peeta will. After all, he didn't pull out those berries, I did. No one ever doubt that Peeta's defiance was motivated by love. So maybe President Snow will prefer to keep him alive, crushed and heartbroken, as a living warning to the others.

 _Like Haymitch._ I think.

"But even if that happens, everyone will know that we went out fighting, right?" Peeta asks.

"Everyone will." I reply leaning in for a kiss. For the first time since the announcement of the Quell, I have distance myself from the personal tragedy that has since consumed me. I remember the old man that they shot in District Eleven, and Bonnie and Twill, and the rumor of uprisings. Yes, everyone in the districts will be watching me to see how I handle this death sentence, the final act of President Snow's dominance. They will be looking for some sign that their battles have not been in vain. If I can make it clear that I intend to defy the Capitol right to the bitter end, that the Capitol can kill me… but not my spirit. What better way to give hope to the rebels?

The beauty of this idea to keep Peeta alive at the expense of my own life is itself an act of defiance. A refusal to play Hunger Games by the rules of the Capitol. My private agenda dovetails completely with my public one. And if I could really save Peeta… in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I would be more valuable dead. They can turn me into some kind of martyr for their cause and paint my face on banners, and it will rally more people to the cause than anything I could ever do while I'm alive. But Peeta would be more valuable alive, and tragic, because he will be able to turn his words into pain that will transform people.

Peeta would lose it if he knew I was thinking any of this, so I only say, "So what should we do with our last few days?"

"I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you," Peeta replies.

"Come on, then," I say, pulling him into my room.

It feels like a luxury sleeping with Peeta again, albeit, we slept together on the train. I didn't realize until now how starved for I've been for human closeness. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness. I wish I hadn't wasted the last few months keeping Peeta at a distance. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth, and when I open my eyes again, daylight is streaming through the widows.

"No nightmares," he says.

"No nightmares," I confirm. "You?"

"None. I had forgotten what a real night's sleep feels like," he says.

We lie for a while, in no rush to start the day. Tomorrow night will be the televised interviews, so today Effie and Haymitch will be coaching us. _More high heels and sarcastic comments,_ I think. But the redheaded Avox girl comes in with a note from Effie saying that, given our recent tour, both she and Haymitch have agreed that we can handle ourselves adequately in public. The coaching sessions have been canceled.

"Really?" says Peeta, taking the note from my hand and examining it. "Do you know what this means? We'll have the whole day to ourselves."

"It's too bad we can't go anywhere," I say wistfully.

"Who says we can't?" he asks.

The roof. We order a bunch a food, grab some blankets, and head up to the roof for a picnic. A daylong picnic in the flower garden that tinkles with wind chimes. We eat. We lie in the sun. I snap of hanging vines and use my newfound knowledge from training to practice knots and weave nets. Peeta sketches me. We make up a game with the force field that surrounds the roof—one of us throws an apple into it and the other person has to catch it.

No one bothers us. By late afternoon, I lie with my head on Peeta's lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he's practicing his knots. Not that I care about it. His hands have a calming effect. After a while, his hand goes still. "What?" I ask.

"I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever," he says.

I take a moment and reflect on everything. Over a year ago we weren't even friends, and I was ready to kill Peeta. _And to think, just a kiss had changed everything._ I think. I fell warm and relaxed and beyond worried about a future I'll never have, I just let the words slip. "Okay."

I can hear the smile in his voice. "Then you'll allow it?"

"I'll allow it," I say.

His fingers go back to my hair, and I doze off, but he rouses me to see the sunset. It's a spectacular yellow and orange blaze behind the Capitol skyline. "I didn't think you'd want to miss this," he says.

"Thanks," I say. Because I can count on my fingers how many sunsets I have left, and I don't want to miss any of them. _I don't want to miss a thing. I think._

We don't go to join the others for dinner, and no one summons us.

"I'm glad. I tired of making everyone around me so miserable," says Peeta. "Everybody crying. Or Haymitch…" He doesn't need to go on.

We stay on the roof until bedtime and then quietly slip down to my room without encountering anyone.

The next morning, we're roused by my prep team. The sight of Peeta and me sleeping together is too much because for Octavia, because she burst into tears tight away. "You remember what Cinna told us," Venia says fiercely. Octavia nods and goes out sobbing.

Peeta has to return to his room for prep, and I'm left with Venia and Flavius. The usual chatter has been suspended. In fact, there's little talk at all, other than to have me raise my chin or comment on a makeup technique. It's nearly lunch when I feel something dripping on shoulder and turn to find Flavius, who's snipping away at my hair with silent tears running down his face. Venia gives him a look, and he gently sets the scissors on the table and leaves.

Then it's just Venia, whose skin is so pale her tattoos appear to be leaping off it. Almost rigid with determination she does my hair and nails and makeup, fingers flying swiftly compensate for her absent teammates. The whole time, she avoids my gaze. It's only when Cinna shows up to approve me and dismiss her that she takes my hands, looks me straight in my eyes, and says, "We would all like you to know what a… privilege it has been to make you look your best." Then she hastens from the room.

My prep team. My foolish, shallow, affection pets, with their obsession for feathers and parties, nearly break my heart with their good-byes. It's certain from Venia's last words that we all know that I won't be returning. _Does the whole world know it?_ I wonder. I look at Cinna. He knows, certainly. But as he promised, there's no danger of tears from him.

"So, what am I wearing tonight?" I ask, eyeing the garment bag that holds my dress.

"President Snow put in the dress order himself," says Cinna said. He unzips the bag, revealing one of the wedding dressing I wore for the photo shoot. Heavy white silk with a low neckline and tight waist and sleeves that fall from my wrists to the floor. And pearls. Everywhere pearls. Stitched into the dress and the ropes at my throat and forming the crown for the veil. "Even though they announced the Quarter Quell the night of the photo shoot, people still voted for their favorite dress, and this was the winner. The president says you're to wear it tonight. Our objections were ignored."

I rub the silk between my fingers, trying to figure out President Snow's reasoning. I suppose since I was the greatest offender, my pain and loss and humiliation should be in the brightest spotlight. This, he thinks, will make that clear. It's so barbaric, the president turning my bridal gown into a shroud. _If Snow thinks I'm going to take this sitting down, he's got another thing coming._ I think as a smile creeps across my face. "Well, it'd be a shame to waste a good dress," is all I say, but knowing Cinna he already has some form of defiance ready for when I am on stage.

Cinna carefully helps me into the gown. As it settles on my shoulders, they can't help giving a shrug of complaint. "Was it always this heavy?" I ask. I remember several of the dresses being dense, but this one feels like it weighs a ton.

"I had to make slight alteration because of the lighting," says Cinna. I nod, and my suspicions are confirmed about his part in tonight's performance. He decks me out in shoes and the pearl jewelry and the veil. Cinna touches up my make up, and then he has me walk a bit.

"You're ravishing," says Cinna. "Now, Katniss, because this bodice is fitted, I don't want you to raise your arms above your head. Well, not until you twirl, anyway."

"More twirling, yeah." I say, understanding how Cinna rigged my dress to change.

"I'm sure Caesar will ask you. And if he doesn't, you suggest it yourself. Only not right away. Save it for the big finale," Cinna instructs me.

"You give me a signal, so I know when," I say.

"Alright. Any plans for the interview? I know Haymitch left you two to your own devices," he says.

"No, I'm just going to wing it again, like last year. The funny thing is, I'm not nervous at all." And I'm not. However much Snow may hate me, this Capitol audience is mine.

We meet up with Effie, Haymitch, Portia, and Peeta at the elevator. Peeta is wearing an elegant tuxedo and white gloves. The sort of things grooms wear to get married in, here in the Capitol.

Back home everything is so much simpler. A woman rents a white dress that has been worn hundreds of times. The man wear something clean that isn't mining clothes. They fill out some forms at the Justice Building, and are assigned a house. Family and friends gather for a meal or a bite of cake, if it can be afforded. Even if it can't, there's always a traditional song we sing as the new couple crosses the threshold of their home. And we have our own ceremony, where they make a fire first, toast a bit of bread, and share it. Maybe its old fashioned, but nobody real feels married in District 12 until after the toasting.

The other tributes have already gathered offstage and are talking softly, but when Peeta and I arrive, they fall silent. I realize everyone's staring daggers at my wedding dress. Are they jealous of its beauty? The power of it might manipulate the crowd?

Finally Finnick says, "I can't believe Cinna put you in that thing."

"He didn't have a choice. President Snow made him," I say defensively. I won't let anyone criticize Cinna.

Cashmere tosses her flowing blond curls back and spits out, "You look ridiculous!" She grabs her brother's hand and pulls him to place to lead our procession onto the stage. The other tributes begin to line up as well. I'm confused because, while they are all angry, some are giving sympathetic pats on the shoulder, and Johanna Mason stops to straighten my pearl necklace.

"Make him pay for it, okay?" she says.

I nod, and give her a knowing look. _Oh, do I plan on having fun with this one Johanna._ I think. Next thing I know, we're all paraded out onto the stage and the crowd goes wild. We take our seats at Caesar comes out onto the stage to warm the crowd up. _Oh, look. Caesar has the same black suit on, but he dyed his hair, and his eyebrows, lavender. That color does not belong anywhere near that man, ever!_ I think.

Caesar finishes his spiel, and the tributes begin their interviews. Listening to the interviews, I realize the depth of the betrayal felt among the victors and the rage that accompanies it. But they are so smart, so wonderfully smart about how they play it, because it all comes back to reflect on the government and President Snow in particular. Not everyone. There are some old throwbacks, like Brutus and Enobaria, who are just here for another Games, and those who are too baffle and too drugged or lost to join in on the attack. But there are enough victors with their wits and nerve to come out fighting.

Cashmere starts the ball rolling with a speech about how she can't stop crying when she thinks of how much the people in the Capitol must be suffering because they will lose us. Gloss recalls the kindness shown here to him and his sister. Beetee questions the legality of the Quell in his, twitchy way, wondering if it's fully been examined by an experts of late. Finnick recites a poem he wrote to his true love in the Capitol, and about a hundred people nearly faint because they're sure he means them. By the time Johanna Mason gets up, there is no beating around the bush at this point, she's opening asking if nothing can be done about the situation. Surely the creators of the Quarter Quell never anticipated such love between the Capitol and the victors. No one could be so cruel as to sever such a deep bond. Seeder quietly ruminates about how, back in District 11, everyone assumes President Snow is all-powerful. So if he's all-powerful, why doesn't he change the Quell? And Chaff, who comes right out on her heels, insists the president could change the Quell if the wanted to, but he must not think it matters to anyone.

By the time I'm introduced, the crowd is an absolute wreck, but the keep their composure in hopes that it will get better. I blow Peeta a kiss, and he grabs it, and then softly and rapidly pats it all over his face. The crowd reacts in kind, but I can feel the tension rolling off the crowd.

"Katniss Everdeen, you look fabulous. Doesn't she?" Caesar asks looking at the crowd, and he receives a resounding applause, and a standing ovation. I hear Caesar laugh his cheery laugh as the audience takes a seat.

"My, my." Caesar says pretending to fan himself, as if my presence on stage had raised the temperature about ten degree. I just turn and my head and stare at Caesar, fluttering my eyelashes. Caesar throws in a few pauses in his speech for effect. "Now, Katniss… this is… very big and very emotional night, for all us. Wouldn't you say?"

Without miss a beat I say, "Don't crying on me now, Caesar."

"I can't make any promises. You know me." he shoots back.

I let out a chuckle before responding. "You know I wouldn't believe, even if you did."

Both Caesar and the crowd let out a laugh. "I love her! The Girl on Fire is so cheeky." Caesar says and then lets out another laugh. "But, Katniss, on a more serious note. I think we're all here a little disappointed, more than a little disappointed, that a certain wedding did not take place. Aren't we folks? Alas. But am I correct in assuming that this is the gown that you would have worn on that day, yes or no?"

"Yes, President Snow thought everyone would want to see it." I said, adding my fuel to the fire.

"Well, President Snow, as usual, was right. Was he not, folks?" Caesar said turning to the crowd for applause, which they did not disappoint. "I love it! I love it! Don't you love it, folks? It's incredible. It's so gorgeous. Will you do us the honor? Please? Please? Please?" Caesar continued.

I don't even hesitate, or look at Cinna for my que, I step away from Caesar and begin to spin, raising the sleeves of my heavy gown above my head. At first I hear screams from the crowd, and I think I look stunning, but I can see the smoke rising from the hem of my dress. I can see the dress turn from paper white to the color of ash as Cinna's pyrotechnics consume the dress. I can hear Caesar mumble incoherently in surprise, but as I lower my arms I can feel something shoot out from my shoulders from behind my arms. _Exactly where wings would be._ I think. I look down at my dress, and I recognize the color scheme on my dress. The moment I realize the bird that Cinna has turned me into, I'm overcome with real fear again, but not for my life. But for Cinna's.

 _Cinna turned me into a mockingjay._ I think.


	45. Chapter 45

I'm smoldering a little, so it's with a tentative hand that Caesar reaches out with to touch my headpiece. The white has burned away, leaving a smooth, fitted veil of black that drapes into the neckline of the dress in the back. "Feathers," says Caesar. "You're like a bird."

"A mockingjay, I think," I say giving my wings a small flap. "It's a bird on my pin that I wear as a token."

A shadow of recognition flickers across Caesar's face, and I can tell he knows the mockingjay isn't just my token. That it's come to symbolize so much more. That what will be seen as flashy costume change in the Capitol is resonating differently in an entirely different way throughout the districts. But he makes the best of it.

"Well, hats off to your stylist. I don't anyone can argue that that's not the most spectacular thing we have ever seen in an interview. Cinna, I think you better take a bow!" Caesar gestures for Cinna to rise. He does, and makes a, small, gracious bow. And suddenly I'm so afraid for him. What has he done? Something terribly dangerous. An act of rebellion in itself. And he's done it for me. I remember his words…

" _Don't worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself._ "

… and I'm afraid he's hurt himself beyond repair. The significance of my fiery transformation will not be lost on President Snow. The audience, who's been stunned into silence, breaks into wild applause. I can barely hear the buzzer that indicates my three minutes are up. Caesar thanks me and I go back to my seat, my dress feeling lighter than air. As Peeta and I pass, who's headed for his interview, we both wink at each other. Neither of us planned the wink, it was something that came natural to us. Peeta wink because he had a plan, and I winked letting him know I understand. I take a seat carefully, but aside from the puff of smoke here and there, I'm relatively unharmed, so I turn my attention to him.

Caesar and Peeta have been a natural team since they first appeared together a year ago. Their easy give-and-take, comic timing, and ability to segue into heart-wrenching moments, like Peeta's confession of love for me, have made them a huge success with the audience. They effortlessly open with a few jokes about fires and feathers and overcooked poultry. But anyone can see that Peeta is preoccupied, so Caesar directs the conversation that's on everyone's minds.

"So, Peeta, what was it like when, after everything you've been through, you found out about the Quell?" Caesar asks.

"I was in shock. I mean, one minute I'm seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all those wedding gowns, and then the next…" Peeta trails off.

"You realize there was never going to be a wedding?" Caesar asks gently.

Peeta pauses for a moment, as if deciding something. He looks out at the spellbound audience, then at the floor, then finally up at Caesar "Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?"

An uncomfortable laugh escapes the audience. What can he mean? Keep a secret from who? Our whole world is watching. _Wait a minute, he's not going to do what I think he's going to do. Is he?_ I think.

"I feel quite certain of it," says Caesar

"We're already married," says Peeta quietly. The crowd reacts in astonishment. Both Peeta and Caesar look at me as if look for some sort of approval. All I did was nod my head.

"But… how could that be?" asks Caesar

"Oh, it's not an official marriage. We didn't go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don't know what it's like in other districts." But there's thing we do," says Peeta, and he briefly describes the toasting

"Were your families there?" asks Caesar.

"No, we didn't tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss mom would have never approved. But you see if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn't be a toasting. And neither of us wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it," says Peeta "And to us, we're more married than any paper or big party could make us."

"So this was before the Quell?" says Caesar.

"Of course it was before the Quell. I'm sure neither of us would have done it if we had knew," says Peeta, starting to get upset. "But who could have seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere—I mean, how could we have anticipate a thing like that?"

"You couldn't, Peeta." Caesar puts an arm around his shoulders. "As you said, no one could've. But I have to confess, I'm glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together."

 _First a secret marriage, then a… oh, no he isn't. He's going to go there._ I think.

Caesar looks up to me, and I nod my thanks. "I'm not glad," says Peeta. "I wish we had waited and done the whole thing officially."

This even takes Caesar aback. "Surely a brief time, is better than no time?"

 _And the icing on the cake._ I think. "Maybe, I'd think that, too, Caesar," says Peeta bitterly, "if it weren't for the baby."

There. He's does it again. Dropped a bomb that wipes out the efforts of every tribute who came before him. Well, maybe not. This year he only lit the fuse on the bomb that the victors themselves have been building. Hoping some would detonate it. Perhaps thinking it would be me in my bridal gown. _Then again, my gown was nothing more than a rally point. Wait._ I think looking down at my dress, but I leave that for another time.

As the bomb explodes I notice two thing. First, was Haymitch spitting out his liquor. Even he couldn't have expected Peeta's play. Haymitch raises his flask at Peeta, as if congratulating him for that nice touch, and Peeta nodded back. Then the desired effect kicked in, with accusations of injustice and barbarism and cruelty flying out in every direction. Even the most Capitol-loving, Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person can't ignore, at least for a moment, how horrific the whole thing is.

 _Let me get this straight._ I think. _Children can kill each other and nobody blinks an eye. But throw a baby into the arena, whether real or not, and the citizens of the Capitol lose their minds._

She's pregnant is echoing over and over in the minds of the crowd. The audience is having a hard time absorbing the news right away. It has to strike them and sink and be confirmed by other voices before they begin to sound like a herd of wounded animals, moaning, shrieking, calling for help. And me? I know my face is projected in a tight close-up on the screen. At this moment both Caesar and Peeta both looked at me. I didn't have advance notice of the plan, but I know well enough I wouldn't want the Capitol to know about a child if we had one, so I give Peeta a death stare as I swing my arms to full extension. Peeta just shrugs it off, but my reaction plays right into his plan.

Caesar can't reign in the crowd again, even after the buzzer sounds. Peeta nods good-bye and comes back to his seat without further conversation. When he gets back, I rise to hug and kiss Peeta. When we break the kiss I turn so the cameras couldn't see us talking. "You could have at least told me the plan." I said, playfully.

"Where's the fun in that. Besides, I knew you would follow my lead. You just needed a little prompting." Peeta said, echoing my words from the Victory Tour six months ago. We don't get to sit down because the Anthem starts blasting, loud enough to rattle my bones. I sense Peeta reaching out for me, and I take his hand. I think of what could happen, what we could achieve, and I turn spontaneously to Chaff and offer my hand. I feel my finger close around his stump that completes his arm and hold fast.

And then it happens. Up, and down the rows the victor begin to join hands. Some right away, like the morphlings, or Wiress and Beetee. Others unsure but caught up in the demands of those around them, like Brutus and Enobaria. By the time the anthem plays its final strains, all twenty-four of us are standing in one unbroken line in what must be the first public show of unity among the Districts since the Dark Days. You can see the realization of this as the screens pop into blackness. It's too late, though. In the confusion, they didn't cut the lights off in time. Everyone has seen.

There's disorder on the stage now, too, as the lights go out and we're left to stumble on the stage and were left to stumble back into the Training Center. I've lost hold of Chaff, but Peeta guides me into an elevator. Finnick and Johanna try to join us, but a harried Peacekeeper blocks their way and we shoot up alone.

The moment we step off the elevator Peeta grips my shoulders. "There isn't much time. So tell me, is there anything I need to apologize for."

"Really? Apologize? You want to apologize, even after my fiery display on stage." I said.

"Touché." he said.

We lean into each other, and kiss. It was a quick soul searing kiss, and then we sat on the couch with Peta cradling me in his lap. We didn't kiss we just stared out the bay windows, getting lost in our own thoughts. It was a big leap, the fake marriage and pregnancy, to take without my knowing, but I'm okay with it. It played right into what the other victors were doing, and our bond is so strong neither one of us needs much prompting. We just went with the flow, which is empowering.

Somewhere, very far off, in District 12, my mom and sister and friends will have to deal with the fall out of this night. Just a brief hovercraft ride away is an arena where, tomorrow, Peeta and I and the other tributes where face our punishment. But even if we all meet a terrible end, something happened on that stage tonight that can't be undone. We victors staged our own uprising, and maybe, just maybe, the Capitol won't be able to contain this one.

We wait for the others to return, but when the elevator opens, only Haymitch appears. "It's madness out there. Everyone is being sent home and they've canceled the recap of the interviews on television."

Peeta and I get up from the couch, and hurry to the window as we try to make sense of the commotion far below us on the streets. "What are they saying?" Peeta asks. "Are they asking the President to stop the Games?"

"I don't think they know themselves what to ask. The whole situation is unprecedented. Even the idea of opposing the Capitol agenda is a source of confusion for the people for the people here," says Haymitch. "But there's no way Snow's canceling the Games. You know that right?"

I do. Of course, he could never back down now. The only option left to him is to strike back, and strike back hard.

"Although..." Haymitch begins to speak, and we turn to see what he was talking about. "The baby bomb was a stroke of genius." The three of us share a smile, and then I ask. "The others went home?"

"They were ordered to. I didn't have much luck getting through the mob," Haymitch says.

"Then we'll never get to see Effie again," says Peeta. We didn't get to say our good-byes the morning of the Games last year. "You'll give her our thanks."

"More than that. Really make it special. It's Effie, after all," I say. "Tell her how appreciative we are and how she was the best escort ever and tell her… and tell her we send our love."

For a while we just stand there in silence, delaying the inevitable. Then Haymitch says it. "I guess this is where we say our good-byes as well."

"Any last words of advice?" Peeta asks.

"Stay alive," Haymitch says gruffly. That's almost an old joke with us now. He gives us each a quick embrace, and I can tell it's all he can stand. "Go to bed. You need your rest."

I know I should say a whole bunch of things to Haymitch, but I can't think of anything he doesn't already know, really, and my throat is tight I doubt anything would come out, anyway. So, once again, I let Peeta speak for us both.

"You take care, Haymitch," he says.

We cross the room, but Haymitch's voice stops us. "Katniss, when you're in the arena," he begins. Then he pauses. He scowls in a way that makes me sure I've already disappointed him.

"What?" I asked defensively.

"You just remember who the enemy is," Haymitch tells me. "That's all. Now go on. Get out of here."

We walk down the hallway. Peeta wants to stop by his room and shower off the makeup and meet in a few minutes, I won't let him. I'm certain that if a door is shut between us, it will lock and I'll have to spend the last night without him. Besides I have a shower in my room. I refuse to let go of his hand.

Do we sleep? I don't know. We spend the night holding each other, in some land halfway between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid of disturb the other in the hope that we'll be able to store up a few more precious minutes of rest.

Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes have to enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. "See you soon," he says.

"See you soon," I answer.

Cinna, who will help me dress for the Games, accompanies me to the roof. I'm about to mount the ladder to the hovercraft when I remember. "I didn't say good-bye to Portia.

"I'll tell her," says Cinna.

The electric current freezes me in place on the ladder until the doctor injects the tracker into my left arm. Now they will always be able to locate me in the arena. The hovercraft takes off, and I look out the window until they black out. Cinna keeps pressing me to eat, and when that fails, to drink. I manage to keep sipping water, thinking about me days of dehydration that almost killed me last year. Thinking of how I need my strength to keep Peeta alive.

When we reach the Launch Room at the arena, I shower. Cinna braids my hair down my back and helps me dress over simple undergarments. This year's tribute outfit is a blue fitted jumpsuit, made of very sheer material, and zippers up in the front. A six-inch-wide padded belt covered in shiny purple plastic. A pair of nylon shoes with rubber soles.

"What do you think?" I ask, holding the fabric out for Cinna to examine.

He frowns as he rubs the thin stuff between his fingers. "I don't know it will offer little protection against cold or water."

"Sun?" I ask, picturing a burning sun over a barren desert.

"Possibly, if it's been treated," he says. "Oh, I almost forgot this." He takes my gold mockingjay pin from his pocket and fixes it to jumpsuit.

"My dress was fantastic last night," I say. Fantastic and reckless. But Cinna must know that.

"I thought you might like it," he says with a tight smile.

We sit, as we did last year, until the voice tells me to prepare for launch. He walks over to the circular metal plate and zips up the neck of my jumpsuit securely. "Remember, girl on fire," he say, "I'm still betting on you." He kisses my forehead and steps back as the glass cylinder slides down around me.

"Thank you," I say, although he probably can't hear me. I lift my chin, holding my head high the way he always told me to, and wait for the plate to rise. But it doesn't, and it still doesn't.

I look at Cinna, raising an eyebrow for an explanation. He just gives his head a slight shake, as perplexed as I am. Why are they delaying this?

Suddenly the door burst open behind him and three Peacekeepers spring into the room. Two pin Cinna's arm behind him and cuff him while the third one hits him in the temple with such force he's knocked to his knees. But they keep hitting him with metal-studded gloves, opening gashes on his face and body. I'm screaming my head off, and banging on the unyielding glass, trying to reach him. The Peacekeepers ignore me completely as they drag Cinna's limp body from the room. All that's left are the smears of blood on the floor.

Sickened and terrified, I feel the plate begin to rise. I'm still leaning against the glass when the breeze catches my hair and I force myself to straighten up. Just in time, too, because the glass is retreating and I'm standing free in the arena. Something seems to be wrong with my vision. The ground is too bright and shiny and keeps undulating. I squint down at my feet and see that my metal plate is surrounded by blue waves that lapped up at my boots. Slowly I raise my eyes and take in the water spreading out in every direction.

I can only form one clear thought.

 _This is no place for a girl on fire._

 _A/N: I would have post this yesterday, but I was having problems posting my document to the website. And sorry I didn't post this earlier in the month, ut I was side tracked with school and other duties. I'm not giving up on my fans._


	46. Chapter 46

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!" the voice of Claudius Templesmith hammers in my ear. I have less than a minute to get my bearings. Then the gong will sound and the tributes will be free to move off their metal plates. But move where?

I can't think straight. The image of Cinna, beaten and bloody, consumes me. Where is he now? What are they doing to him? Torturing him? Killing him? Turning him into an Avox? Obviously his assault was staged to unhinge me, the same way Darius in my quarters was meant to. And it _has_ unhinged me. I want to collapse on my plate, but I won't. I owe it to Cinna, who was willing to risk everything to undermine President Snow and turn my silk bridal gown into a mockingjay plumage. And I owe it to the rebels, who emboldened by Cinna's example, might be fighting to bring down the Capitol at this moment. My refusal to play the Games on the Capitol's terms is my last act of rebellion. So I my grit teeth and will myself to be a player.

 _Where are you?_ I can still make no sense of my surrounds. _Where are you?_ I demand an answer from myself and slowly the world comes into focus. Blue water. Pink sky. White-hot sun beating down. All right, the Cornucopia is about forty yards away. At first, it appears to be sitting on a circular Island. But upon closer examination, I see thin strips of land radiating form the circle like spokes on a wheel. I think there are ten to twelve, and they seem equidistant from each other. Between the spokes, all water. Water and a pair of tributes.

That's it, then. There are twelve spokes, each with two tributes balanced on metal plates. The other tribute in my water wedge is old Woof from District 8. He's about as far to my right as the strip of land is on my left. Beyond the water, wherever you look, a narrow beach and then dense greenery. I scan the circle of tributes, looking for Peeta, but he must be blocked from my view by the Cornucopia.

I catch a handful of water that splashes up onto my plate. I smell and then touch the tip of my wet finger to my tongue. As I suspected, it's saltwater. Just like the waves that Peeta and I encountered during our brief tour of the beach in District 4. But at least it seems clean.

There are no boats, no ropes, not even a bit of drift wood to cling to. No there is only one way to get to that Cornucopia. When the gong sounds, I dive to my left without a second's hesitation. It's a longer distance than I'm used to, and it takes more skill to navigate the waves than swimming across the quiet lake back home, but my body seems oddly light and I cut through the waves with ease. Maybe it's the salt. I pull myself, dripping, onto the land strip and sprint down the sandy strip for the Cornucopia. I can see no one else converging from my side, but the Cornucopia blocks a good portion of my view. I don't let the thought of my adversaries slow me down, though. I'm thinking like a Career now, and the first thing I want is to get my hands on a weapon.

Last year, the supplies were spread quite a distance around the Cornucopia, with the most valuable closest the horn. But this year, the booty is pile at the twenty-foot-high mouth. My eyes instantly home in on the golden bow just in arms reach and I yank it free.

There's someone behind me. I'm alerted by, I don't know, the soft a shift of sand or maybe just a change in the air currents. I pull an arrow from the quiver that's still wedged in the pile and arm my bow as I turn.

Finnick, glistening and gorgeous, stands a few yards away, with a trident poised to attack. A net dangles from his other hand. He's smiling a little, but the muscles of his upper body are rigid in anticipation. "You can swim, too," he says. "Where did you learn that in District Twelve?"

"We have a big bathtub," I answer.

"You must," he says. "You like the arena?"

"Not particularly. But you should. They must have built it especially for you," I say bitterly. It seems like it anyway, with all the water, when I bet only a handful of victors can swim. And there was no pool in the Training Center, no chance to learn either. Either you came in here a swimmer, or you're a fast learner. Even participation in the initial bloodbath hinges on being able to cover twenty yards of water. That gave District 4 an enormous advantage.

For a moment we're frozen, sizing each other up, our weapons, our skill. Then suddenly Finnick grins. "Lucky thing we're allies. Right?"

Sensing a trap, I'm about to let my arrow fly, hoping it finds his heart before the trident impales me, when he shifts his hand and something on his wrist catches the sunlight. It's a solid-gold bangle patterned with flames. The same one that Haymitch wore the morning I began training. And I know immediately that Haymitch gave it to him. As a signal to me. An order, really. To trust Finnick.

I can hear footsteps approaching, and I decide to follow my mentors lead, for the moment. "Right!" I snapped, and I don't bother to contemplate my emotions at the moment. I don't bother to ponder Haymitch not telling me about this arrangement. Am I mad? Yeah, but Peeta and I had ruled out allies, but Haymitch chose one for us.

"Duck!" Finnick commands in such a powerful voice, so different from his usually seductive purr, that I do. His trident goes whizzing over me and there's a sickening thud as the trident finds its target. The man from District 5, the drunk who puked all over the sword-fighting floor, sinks to his knees as Finnick frees the trident from his chest. "Don't trust One and Two," says Finnick.

There's no time to question this. I work the quiver of arrows free. "Each take one side?" I say. He nods, and I dart around the pile. About four spokes apart, Gloss and Enobaria are just reaching land. Either they're slow swimmers or they thought the water was laced with other dangers, which it might as will be. Sometimes it's not good to consider too many scenarios. But now that they're on the sand they will be here in a matter of second.

"Anything useful?" I hear Finnick shout.

I quickly scan the pile on my side and find maces, swords, bows and arrows, tridents, knives, axes, metal objects I have no name for… and nothing else.

Weapons!" I called back. "Nothing but weapons!"

"Same here," he confirms. "Grab what you want and let's go."

I shoot an arrow at Enobaria, who's gotten in too close for comfort, but she's expecting it and dives back into the water before it finds its mark. Gloss isn't quite as swift, and I sink an arrow into his calf as he plunges into the waves. I sling an extra bow and a second quiver of arrow over my shoulder slide two long knives and an awl into my belt, and meet up with Finnick in front of the pile.

"Do something about that would you?" he says. Brutus is barreling towards us. His belt is undone and he stretched it between his hands as a kind of shield. I shoot at him and he manages to block the arrow with his belt before it can skewer him in the liver. Where it punctures the belt, purple liquid spews forth, coating his face. As I reload, Brutus flattens on the ground and rolls a few feet to the water, and submerges. There's a clang of metal falling behind me. "Let's clear out," I say to Finnick.

This last altercation has given Enobaria and Gloss time to reach the Cornucopia. Brutus is somewhere in shooting distance, and somewhere, certainly, Cashmere is nearby, too. These four classic Careers will have no doubt prior alliances. If I only had my safety to worry about, I might consider taking them on with Finnick by my side. But it's Peeta I'm thinking about, I spot him still stranded on his metal plate. I take off with Finnick right beside me, as if he knew this was my next move. When I'm as close as I'm going to get, I start to take the knives out of my belt preparing to swim out to reach him and bring him back in somehow.

Finnick drops a hand on my shoulder. "I'll get him."

Suspicion flickers up inside of me. Could this all be a ruse? Gain my trust and then swim out and drown Peeta? "I can," I insist.

But Finnick drops all his weapons to the ground. "Better not exert yourself. Not in your condition," he says, patting my abdomen.

 _Oh, right. I'm supposed to be pregnant,_ I think. While I'm trying to think of how I should act—maybe throw up or something—Finnick has position himself at the edge of the water.

"Cover me," he says. He disappears with a flawless dive.

I raise my bow, warding off any attackers from the Cornucopia, but no one seems interested in pursuing us. Sure enough, Gloss, Cashmere, Enobaria, and Brutus have gathered and their pack already formed, picking over the weapons. A quick survey over the arena shows that the rest of the tributes are stuck on their plates. Wait, no, there's someone standing on the spoke to my left, opposite Peeta. It's Mags. But she neither heads for the Cornucopia nor flees. Instead se splashes into the water and starts paddling toward me, her gray head bobbing above water. Well, she's old, but after eighty years of growing up in district 4 she can keep afloat.

Finnick has reached Peeta and is towing him back, one arm across his chest and the other propels them through the water with easy stokes. Peeta rides along without resisting. I don't know what Finnick said or did that convinced him to put his life in his hands—showed him the bangle, maybe. Or the sight of me just waiting might have been enough. When they reach dry land, I help drag Peeta up onto it.

"Hello again," Peeta says, and gives me a kiss. "We've got allies."

"It was Haymitch's plan, not ours." I said.

"Remind me did we make a deal with anyone else?" Peeta asks.

"Finnick and Mags are a packaged deal, so…" I said trailing off. I nod toward the old woman doggedly making her way towards me.

"Well, I can't leave Mags behind," says Finnick. "She's one of the few people that actually likes me."

"No complaints here," I said. "Especially now that I see the arena. Her fishhooks are probably our best chance for getting a meal."

"Katniss wanted her on the first day," says Peeta.

"Katniss has remarkably good judgement," says Finnick.

With one hand he reaches in the water and scoops out Mags like she weighs nothing more than a puppy. She makes a remark that I think includes the word "bob" and pats her belt.

"Look, she's right. Someone figure it out." Finnick points to Beetee. He's flailing around in the waves, but he manages to keep his head above water.

"What?" I say.

"The belts. They're flotation devices," says Finnick. "I mean, you have to propel yourself, but they'll keep you from drowning."

I almost ask Finnick to wait to get Beetee and Wiress and take them with us, but I see Beetee is three spokes over, and Wiress is nowhere to be seen. For all I know, Finnick would kill them as fast he did the tribute from District 5, so instead I suggest we move on. I hand Peeta a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a knife, keeping the rest for myself. But Mags tugs on my sleeve and babbles on until I had given her the awl. Pleased, she clamps the handle between her gums and reached her arms up to Finnick. He tosses his net over his shoulder, hoist Mags up onto it, grips his trident in his free hand, and we run away from the Cornucopia.

Where the sand ends the woods rise sharply. No, not woods, really. At least not the kind I know. _Jungle._ The foreign, almost obsolete word comes to mind. Something I heard from another Hunger Games or something I learn from my dad. Most of the trees are unfamiliar, with smooth trunks and a few branches. The earth black and spongy underfoot, often obscured by tangle of vines with colorful blossoms. While the sun's hot and bright, the air is warm with and heavy with moisture, and I get a feeling that I will never really be dry here. The thin blue fabric of my jumpsuit lets the seawater evaporate easily, but it's already begun cling to me with sweat.

Peeta takes the lead cutting through dense vegetation with his long knife. I make Finnick go second because even though he's the most powerful, he's got his handful with Mags. Beside, even though he's a whiz with that trident, it's a weapon less suit for the jungle than my arrows. It doesn't take long, between the steep incline and the heat, to become short of breath. Peeta and I have been training intensely, though, and Finnick's such an amazing physical specimen that even with Mags, we rapidly climb for a mile before he requests a rest. And I think it's more for Mags's sake than his own.

The foliage has hidden the wheel from sight, so I scale a tree with rubbery limbs to get a better view. And then I wish that I hadn't, not that mattered.

Around the Cornucopia, the ground appears to be bleeding, and stained purple. Bodies lie on the ground and float in the sea, but at this distance, with everyone dressed the same, I can't tell who's still alive or who's dead. I knew that the display last night wasn't going to last long, just thought these people might be able to do something differently as opposed to playing the Capitol's game.

In the distance I hear a cannon going off, and I hear a noise from down below. I get back down quickly to see that it was Finnick who made the noise.

"Well, I guess we're not holding hands anymore." Finnick says, chuckling.

"You find that funny?" I ask, but I wasn't serious and Finnick can see it in my eyes.

"Every time that cannon goes off its music to my ears." Finnick says, pointing over his shoulder. "I don't care about any of them."

"Good to hear." I say, and look back in the direct we came.

"You do realize that no one in this arena is a victor by chance." Finnick then eyes Peeta a moment. "Except for maybe Peeta."

I give Finnick a calculated stare for a moment. Finnick knows then what Haymitch and I know. About Peeta. Being truly, deep down better than the rest of us. Finnick took out the tribute from District 5 without blinking an eye. And how long did I take to turn deadly. I shot to kill Enobaria and Gloss and Brutus. Peeta would've tried to negotiate first. Seen if some wider alliance was possible. But to what end? The people in the arena weren't crown for their compassion.

Finnick starts to walk over to me, silently. We held each other's gazes, but I weighed my speed against his. The time it will take to send an arrow through his brain versus the time his trident will reach my body. I can see him, waiting for me to make the first move. Calculating if he should block first or go for the attack. I can feel we've both figured it out when Peeta deliberately steps between us.

 _Move, you idiot._ I think. But he remains planted firmly between us.

"So how many are dead?" Peeta asks.

"Hard to tell. I saw at least six, but those were only visible from this side of the Cornucopia." I said.

"Let's keeping moving. We need water." Peeta says.

So far there's been no sign of a freshwater stream, or a pond, and the saltwater is undrinkable. Again, I think of the last Games, where I almost died of dehydration.

"Better finds some soon. We need to be undercover when the others come hunting us tonight." Finnick says.

We. Us. Hunting. All right, maybe killing Finnick would be a little premature. He _has_ been helpful so far. He has Haymitch's stamp of approval, albeit, he decided force us to have allies even though we agreed that having allies was off the table. And who knows what the night will hold? If worse comes to worse, I can kill Finnick in his sleep. _Please don't let it come to that?_ I beg to myself. So I let the moment pass.

The absence of water intensifies my thirst. I keep a sharp eye out as we continue our trek upward, but we have no luck. After about a mile I can see an end to the tree line and assume we're reaching the crest of the hill. "Maybe we'll have better luck on the other side. Find a spring or something."

But there is no other side, and I know this before anyone else, even though I'm the furthest from the top. My eyes catch on a funny, rippling square hanging like a warped pane of glass in the air. At first I think it's a glare from the sun or the heat shimmering up from the ground. But it's fixed in space, and not shifting when I move. And that's when I connect the square with Beetee and Wiress in the Training Center and realize what's in front of us. My warning cry is just reaching my lips when Peeta swings out to slash away some vines.

There's a sharp zapping sound. For an instant, the trees are gone and I see an open space over a stretch of bare earth. Then Peeta's flung back from the force field, bringing Finnick and Mags to the ground.

I rush over to where he lies, motionless in a pile of vines. "Peeta?" There's a faint smell of singed hair. I call his name again, giving him a little shake, but he's unresponsive. My fingers fumble across his lips, where there's no warm breath although moments ago he was panting. I press my ear against his chest to the spot where I always rest my chest, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart.

Instead, I find silence.


	47. Chapter 47

_A/N: To all my loyal fans. I'm not taking my time when it comes to posting these chapters because I'm getting bored with the story. Not at all, life is pulling me away from writing. So don't fear I plan on finishing this story._

"Peeta!" I scream. I shake him harder, even resorting to slapping his face, but it's no use. His heart has failed. I'm slapping emptiness. "Peeta!"

Finnick props Mags up against a tree and pushes me out of the way. "Let me." His fingers touch points on Peeta's neck, run over the bones in his ribs and spine. Then pinches his nostrils Peeta's nostrils shut.

I grab my bow and reach for an arrow because I think Finnick is about to kill Peeta, but I realize that he is doing… whatever it is, I've seen my mom doing to a patient on the table back home, once in a blue moon. I watch as Finnick begin compressions on Peeta, and then he tilts Peeta's head, close the off nostrils and breaths into him again. If your heart fails in District 12, it's unlikely your family could get you to mom in time, anyways. So her usual patients are burned or wounded or ill. Or starving, of course.

But Finnick's world is different. Whatever he's doing, he's done before. There's a very set method and rhythm. I lean in to watch desperately, for some sign of success. Agonizing minutes drag past as my hopes diminish. Around that time I decide that it's too late, that Peeta is dead, moved on, unreachable forever, he gives a small cough and Finnick sits back.

I leave my weapons in the dirt and fling myself at him. "Peeta!" I say softly. I brush the damp blond strands of hair back from his forehead, find the pulse drumming against my fingers at his neck.

His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine "Careful," he says weakly. "There's a force field up ahead."

I laugh but there's tears streaming down my cheek.

"Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof," he says. "I'm alright though. Just shaken."

"You were dead! You were dead! Your heart stopped!" my voiced cracked as I burst out my voice, before really considering if this is a good idea. I clap my hand over my mouth because I'm starting to make those awful chocking sounds that happen when I sob.

"Well it seems to be working now," he says. "It's all right, Katniss." I nod my head but the sounds aren't stopping.

"Katniss?" Now Peeta's was worried about me, which adds to the insanity of it all.

"It's okay. It's just her hormones," says Finnick. "From the baby." I look up to see him, sitting back on his knees but still panting a but from the climb and the heat and the effort of bringing Peeta back from the dead.

"No it's not—" I get out, but it's cut off by another round of hysterical sobbing that only seems to confirm what Finnick is said about the baby. He meets my and eyes and I glare at him through my tears. It's stupid, I know, that his efforts make me so vexed. All I wanted was to keep Peeta alive, and I couldn't and Finnick could, and I should be nothing but grateful. And I am. But I am also so furious because it proves Haymitch was right. That we needed allies. So how could I ever kill him in his sleep? _Isn't Haymitch always?_ I think.

I expected to see a smug or sarcastic expression on his face, but his look is strangely quizzical. He glances between Peeta and me, as if trying to figure something out, and then gives his head a slight shake as if to clear it. "How are you?" he asks Peeta. "Do you think we can move on?"

I was about to say no, that Peeta need his rest, but I think against it. My antics over Peeta's death was a lot louder than it should have been, and my nose is running like crazy and I don't even have a shred of fabric to use as a handkerchief. Mags rips off a handful of hanging moss from a tree limb and gives it to me as I said. "That's up to him." I'm too much of a mess to even question it. I blow my nose loudly and mop the tears off my face. It's nice, the moss. Absorbent and surprisingly soft.

I noticed a gleam of gold on Peeta's chest. I reach out and retrieve the disk that hangs from a chain around his neck. My mockingjay has been engraved on it. "Is this your token?" I asked.

"Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match," he says.

"No, of course I don't mind." I smiled. Peeta showing up in the arena wearing is both a blessing and a curse, but let's be realistic about this. This is Peeta I'm talking about, he'll do whatever he think is right, even if I don't agree with it. So that fact that the rebels have both me and Peeta wearing the mockingjay should give them a boost to moral, but it will make it much harder to keep President Snow off of Peeta.

"You want to make camp here, then?" Finnick asks.

"That's not an option," Peeta answer. "Staying here. With no water. No protection. I feel all right, really. If we could just go slowly." Finnick helps Peeta to his feet while I pull myself together. Since I got up this morning I've watched Cinna get beaten to a pulp, landed in another arena, and watch Peeta die. Still, I'm glad Finnick keeps playing the pregnancy card for me, because from a sponsor's point of view, I'm not handling things all that well.

I check over my weapons, which I know are in perfect condition, because it makes me feel more in control. "I'll take the lead," I announce.

Peeta starts to object but Finnick cuts him off. "No, let her do it." He frowns at me. "You knew that force field was there, didn't you? Right at the last second? You started give a warning." I nod. "How did you know?"

I hesitate. To reveal that I know Beetee and Wiress's trick of recognizing a force field could be dangerous. I don't know if the Gamemakers made note of that moment during training when they pointed it out to me or not. One way or the other, I have a valuable piece of information. And if they know I have it, they might do something to alter the force field so I can't see the aberration anymore. So I lie. "I don't know. It's almost as if I could hear it. Listen." We all become silent. There's the sound of insects, birds, the breeze in the foliage.

"I don't hear anything," says Peeta

"Yes," I insist, "it's like when the fence around District Twelve is on, only much, more quiet." Everyone listens again intently. I do, too, although there is nothing to hear. "There!" I say. "Can't you hear it? It's coming from right where Peeta got shocked."

"I don't hear it either," says Finnick. "But if you do, by all means, take the lead."

I decide to play this for all it's worth. "That's weird." I say. I turn my heard from side to side as if puzzled. "I can only hear it out of my left ear."

"The one the doctor's reconstructed?" Peeta asks

"Yeah," I say, and then give a shrug. "Maybe they did a better job than they thought. You know, sometimes I do hear funny things on that side. Things that you wouldn't ordinarily think have a sound. Like insect wings. Or snow hitting the ground." Perfect. Now all the attention will turn to the surgeons that fixed my deaf ear after the Games last year, and they'll have to explain why I can hear like a bat.

"You," Mags say, nudging me forward, so I can take the lead. Since we're beginning to move slowly, Mags prefers to walk with the aid of a branch that Finnick quickly fashions into a walking stick. He makes a staff for Peeta, as well, which is good, despite his protestation, I think all Peeta really wants to do is lie down. Finnick brings up the rear, so at least someone has our backs.

I walk with the force field on our left, because that's supposed be the side with my superhuman hearing. But since that is all made up, I cut down a branch of hard nuts that hang like grapes from a nearby tree and toss them ahead me as I go. It's I good I do, too, because I have a feeling that I'm missing patches that indicate the force field more often than I'm spotting. Whenever a nut hits the force field, there's a puff of smoke before the nut lands, blackened with a cracked shell, on the ground at my feet.

After a few minutes I become aware of a smacking sound behind me and turn to see Mags peeling off the shell and popping it in her already full mouth. "Mags!" I cry. "Spit that out. It could be poisonous."

She mumbles something and ignores me, licking her lips with apparent relish. I look to Finnick for help but he just laughs. "I guess we'll find out," he says.

I go forward, wondering about Finnick, who saved old Mags but will let her eat strange nuts. Who has Haymitch seal of approval. Who brought Peeta back from the dead. Why didn't he just let him die? He would have been blameless. I would have never guessed it was in his power to revive him. Why could he possibly have wanted to save Peeta? And was he determined to team up with me? Willing to kill me, too, if it comes to that. But leaving the choice to fight to me.

I keep walking, tossing my nuts, sometimes catching a glimpse of the force field, trying to press to the left to find a spot where we can break through, get away from the Cornucopia, and hopefully find water. But after another hour or so of this I realize that it's futile. We're not making any progress to the left. In fact the force field seems to be herding us along a curved path. I stop and look back at Mag's limping form, the sheen of sweat on Peeta's face. "Let's take a break," I say. "I need to get another look from above."

The tree I chose seems to jut higher in the air than the others. I make my way up the twisting boughs, staying as close to the trunk as possible. No telling how easily these rubbery branches will break. Still I climb beyond good sense because there's something I have to see. As I cling to a stretch of trunk no wider than a sapling, swaying back and forth in the humid breeze, my suspicions are confirmed. There's a reason we can't turn left, will never be able to. From the precarious vantage point, I can see the shape of the whole arena for the first time. A perfect circle. With a perfect wheel in the center. The sky above the circumference is the tinge a uniform pink. And I think I can make out one or two more of those wavy squares, chinks in the armor, Wiress and Beetee called them, because the reveal what was meant to be hidden and therefore a hidden weakness. Just to make absolutely sure, I shoot an arrow into the empty space above the tree line. There's a spurt of light, a flash of real blue sky, and the arrow's thrown back into the jungle. I climb back to give the others the bad news.

"The force field has us trapped in a circle. A dome, really. I don't know how high it goes. There's the Cornucopia, the sea, and the jungle all around. Very exact. Very symmetrical. And not very large," I say.

"Did you see any water?" Finnick asks.

"Only the saltwater where we started the Games." I say.

"There must be some other source," Peeta says, frowning. "Or we'll all be dead in a matter of days."

"Well, the foliage is thick. Maybe there are ponds or springs somewhere," I say doubtfully. I instinctively feel the Capitol might want these unpopular Games over as soon as possible. I wouldn't be surprised if Plutarch Heavensbee has been give the order to knock us off. "At any rate, there is no point in trying to find out what is beyond the edge of this hill, because the answer is nothing."

"There must be drinkable water between the force field and the wheel," Peeta insists. We all know what this means. Heading back down. Back down to the Careers and the bloodshed. With Mags hardly able to walk and Peeta too weak to fight.

We decide to move down the slope a few hundred yards and continue circling. See if there's some water at that level. I stay in the lead, chucking an occasional nut at the force field to my left, but we're well out of range of the force field now. The sun beats down on us, turning the air to steam, playing tricks on our eyes. By midafternoon, it's clear Peeta and Mags can't go on.

Finnick chooses a campsite about ten yards below the force field, saying we can use it as a weapon by deflecting our enemies attacks into it. Then he and Mags pull blades of sharp grass that grow into five-foot-high tufts and begin to weave them into mats. Since Mags seems to have no ill effects from eating the nuts, Peeta collects bunches of them and fries them by bouncing them off the force field. He methodically peels off the shell, piling the meats on a leaf. I stand guard, fidget and hot and raw with the emotions of the day.

Thirsty. I am so thirsty. Finally I can't stand it anymore. "Finnick, why don't you stand guard and I'll hunt around for some water," I say. No one's thrilled with the idea of going off alone, but the threat of dehydration hangs over us.

"Don't worry, I won't go far," I promise Peeta.

"I'll go, too," he says.

"No, I'm going to do some hunt if I can," I tell him. I don't say it out loud, but Peeta knows he can't come with me because of how heavy his footsteps are when he walks. He would both scare off prey and endanger me with his heavy tread. "I won't be long."

I move stealthily through the trees, happy to see that the ground lends itself to soundless footsteps. I work my way down at a diagonal, but I find nothing except more lush, green plant life.

The sound of the canon brings me to a halt. The initial bloodbath had been over for a few hours now, but it seems that was still some more fighting left before the day was over. I remember how many went off earlier, it was six. When the canon fired off this time there were only two shoots. Eight were killed on the first day, not as many as last year. But it seems like more since I knew most of their names.

Suddenly weak, I lean against a tree to rest, feeling the heat draw the moisture from my body like sponge. Already, swallowing is difficult and fatigue is creeping up on me. I try rubbing my hand across my belly, in hopes some sympathetic pregnant woman will sponsor our cause and Haymitch send in some water. No luck. I sink to the ground.

In my stillness, I begin to notice the animals: strange birds with brilliant plumage, tree lizards with flickering blue tongues, and something that looks like a cross between a rat and a possum clinging on the branches close to the trunk. I shoot one of the later out of the tree to get a closer look at it.

It's ugly, all right, a big rodent with a fuzz of mottle gray fur and two-wicked looking gnawing teeth protruding over its lower lip. As I'm gutting and skinning it, I noticed something else. Its muzzle was wet. Like an animal that has be drinking from a stream. Excited, I start at its home tree and slowly move out in a spiral. It can't be far, the creature's water source.

Nothing. I find nothing. Not as much as a dewdrop. Eventually, because I know Peeta will be worried about me, I head back to the camp, hotter and more frustrated than ever.

When I arrive, I see the others have transformed the place. Mags and Finnick have created huts of sorts out of the grass mats, open on one side but with three walls, a floor, and a roof. Mags has also plaited several bowls that Peeta has filled with roasted nuts. Their faces turn to me hopefully, but I give my head a shake. "No. No water. It's out there, though. He knew where it was," I say, hoisting up the skinned rodent for all to see. "He had been drinking recently when I shot him out of a tree, but I couldn't find the source. I swear, I covered every inch of ground in a thirty yard radius."

"Can we eat him?" Peeta asks.

"I don't know for sure, but the meat doesn't look that different from a squirrel's. He ought to be cooked…"

I hesitate as I think about trying to start a fire out here from complete scratch. Even if I succeed, there's the smoke to think about. We're all so close together in this arena, there's little chance of hiding it.

Peeta has another idea. He takes a cube of rodent meat, skewers it on the tip of a pointed stick, and lets it fall into the force field. There's a sharp sizzle and the stick flies back. The chunk of meat is blackened on the outside but well cooked inside. We give him a round of applause, then quickly stop, remembering where we were.

The white sun sinks into the rosy sky as we gather in the hut. I'm still leery about the nuts, but Finnick says that Mags recognizes them from other Games. I didn't bother spending time at the edible-plants station in training because it was effortless for me last year. Now I wish I did. For sure there would have been some unfamiliar plants surrounding me. And I might have guessed a bit more about where I was headed. Mags seems fine, though, and she's been eating the nuts for hours. So I pick one up and take a small bite. It has a mild, slightly sweet flavor that reminds me of a chestnut. I decide it's all right. The rodent's strong and gamey but surprisingly juicy. Really, it's not a bad meal for our first night in the arena. If only we had something to wash it down with.

Finnick asks a lot of questions about the rodent, which we decide to call a tree rat. How high was it, how long did I wait before I shot it, and what was it doing? I don't remember it doing much. Snuffling around for insects or something.

I'm dreading the night. At least the tightly woven grass offers some protection from whatever slinks the jungle floor after hours. But for a short time before the sun slips beneath the horizon, a pale white moon rises, making things just visible enough. Our conversation trails off because we know what's coming. We position ourselves at the mouth of the hut and Peeta slips his hand into mine.

The sky brightens with the appearance of the Capitol seal. As I listen to the strains of the anthem I think, _it will be harder for Finnick and Mags_. But it turns out pretty hard for me as well. Seeing the faces of the eight dead victors in the sky.

The man from District 5, the one that Finnick took out with his trident, is the first to appear. That means all the Career tributes in 1 through 4 are still alive—the four Careers, Beetee and Wiress, and of course, Finnick and Mags. The man from District 5 is followed by the male morphling from 6, Cecelia and Woof from 8, both from 9, the woman from 10, and Seeder from 11. The Capitol seal is back for the final bit of music and then the sky goes dark except for the moon.

No one speaks. I can't pretend I knew any of them well. But I'm thinking of those three kids hanging on to Cecelia when they took her away. Seeder's kindness to me at our meeting. Even the thought of the glazed-eye morphling. Painting my cheek with yellow flowers gives me a pang. All dead. All gone.

I don't know how long we would have sat there if it weren't for the arrival of the silver parachute, which glides down through the foliage to land before us. No one reaches for it.

"Whose is it, do you think?" I ask.

"No telling," says Finnick. "Why don't we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?"

Peeta unties the cord and flattens out the circle of silk. On the parachute sits a metal object that I can't place. "What is it?" I ask. No one knows. We pass it from hand to hand, taking turns examining it. It's a hollow metal tube, tapered slightly at one end. On the other end a small lip curves downward. It's vaguely familiar. A part that could have fallen off a bicycle, a curtain rod, or anything, really.

Peeta blows on one end to see if it makes a sound. It doesn't. Finnick slides his pinkie, testing it out as a weapon. Useless.

"Can you fish with it Mags?" I ask. Mags, who can fish with almost anything, shakes her head and grunts.

I take it and roll it back and forth in my palm. Since we're allies, Haymitch will be working with the District 4 mentors. He had a hand in choosing this gift. That means it's valuable. Lifesaving, even. I think back to last year, when I wanted water badly, but he wouldn't send it because he knew I would find it if I tried. Haymitch's gifts, or lack thereof, are weighty messages. I can almost hear him growling at me, _Use your brain if you have one. What is it?_

I wipe sweat from my eyes and hold the gift out in the moonlight. I move it this way and that, viewing it from different angles, covering portions and revealing them. Trying to make it divulge its purpose to me. Finally, in frustration, I jam one end into the dirt. "I give up. Maybe if we hook up with Beetee or Wiress they can figure it out."

I stretch out, pressing my hot cheek against the grass mat, staring at the thing in aggravation. Peeta rubs a tense spot between my shoulders and I let myself relax a little. I wonder why this place hasn't cooled off at all now that the sun has gone down. I wonder what's going on back home.

Prim. Mom. Gale. Madge. I think of them watching me from home. At least I think they are home. Not taken into custody by Thread. Being punished like Cinna and Daruis. Punished because of me. Everybody.

I begin to ache for them, for my district, for my woods. A decent woods with sturdy hardwood trees, plentiful food, game that isn't creepy. Rushing steams. Cool breezes. No cold winds to blow the stifling heat away. I conjure up such a wind in my mind, letting it freeze my cheeks and numb my fingers, and all at once, the piece of metal half buried in black earth has a name.

"A spile!" I exclaim sitting, bolt upright.

"What?" Finnick asked.

I wrestled the thing from the ground and brush it clean. I cup my hand around the tapered end, concealing it, and look at the lip. Yes, I've seen one before. On a cold, windy day a long ago, when I was outside in the woods with my dad. Inserted snuggly into a hold drilled into a side of a maple. A pathway for syrup to follow as it flowed into out bucket. Maple syrup could make even our dull bread a treat. After my dad died, I didn't know what happened to the handful of spiles that he had. Hidden out in the woods, probably. Never to be found again.

"It's a spile. A faucet of sorts. You put it into a tree and sap comes out." I look at the sinewy green trunks around me. "Well, the right sort of tree."

"Sap?" Finnick asks. They don't have the right kinds of trees by the sea, either.

"To make syrup," Peeta says. "But there must be something else inside these trees."

We're all on our feet at once. Our thirst. The lack of springs. The tree rats sharp front teeth and wet muzzle. There can be only one thing worth having inside these trees. Finnick goes to hammer the spile into the green bark with a rock when I stop him. "Wait. You might damage it. We need to drill a hole first," I say.

There's nothing to drill with, so Mags offers her awl and Peeta drives it straight into the bark, burying the spike about two inches deep. He and Finnick take turns opening the hole with the awl and the knives until it can hold the spile. I wedge it in carefully and we all stand back in anticipation. At first nothing happened. Then a drop of water rolls down over the lip and lands in Mags's palm. She licks it off and holds out her hand for more.

By wiggling and adjusting the spile, we get a thin stream running out. We take turns holding our mouths under the tap, wetting our parched tongues. Mags brings over a basket, and the grass is so tightly woven it holds water. We fill the basket and pass it around, taking deep gulps, and, later, luxuriously, splashing our faces clean. Like everything here, the water's on the warm side, but it's no time to be prickly.

Without the thirst to distract us, we're all aware how exhausted we are and make preparations for the night. Last year, I always made sure my gear was ready in case I had to make a speedy retreat in the night. This year, there's no backpack to prepare. Just my weapons, which won't leave my grasp, anyway. Then I think of the spile, and wrest it from the tree trunk. I strip a tough vine of leaves, run it through the hollow center, and tie the spile securely to my belt.

Finnick offers to take the first watch and I let him, knowing it has to be one of the two of us until Peeta is well rested. I lied down next to Peeta on the hut floor, telling Finnick to wake me when he is tired. Instead I find myself being jarred awaked a few hours later by what seems to be the tolling of a bell. _Bong! Bong!_ It's not exactly like the one they ring in the Justice Building on New Year's but close enough for me to recognize it. Peeta and Mags slept through it, but Finnick has the same look of attentiveness I feel. The tolling stops.

"I counted twelve," he says.

I nod. Twelve. What does that signify? One ring for each district? Maybe. But why? "Mean anything, do you think?"

"No idea," he says.

We wait for further instructions, maybe a message from Claudius Templesmith. An invitation to a feast. The only thing of note appears in the distance. A dazzling bolt of electricity strikes a towering tree in the distance and then a lightning storm begins. I guess it's an indication of rain, of a water source for those who don't have mentors as smart as Haymitch.

"Go to sleep Finnick. It's my turn to watch, anyways," I say.

Finnick hesitates, but no one can stay awake forever. He settles down at the mouth of the hut one hand gripped around a trident, and drifts into a restful sleep.

I sit with my bow loaded, watching the jungle, which is ghostly pale and green in the moonlight. After an hour or so, the lightning stops. I can hear the rain coming in, though, pattering on the leaves a few hundred yards away. I keep waiting for it to reach us but it never does.

The sound of a cannon startles me, but it makes little impression on my sleeping companions. There's no point in waking them for this. Another victor is dead. I don't even allow myself to wonder who it is.

The elusive rain shuts off suddenly, like the storm did last year in the arena.

Moments after it stops, I see a fog sliding softly in the direction from of the recent downpour. _Just a reaction. Cool rain on the steaming ground,_ I think. It continues to approach at a steady pace. Tendrils reach forward and then curl like fingers, as if pulling the rest behind them. As I watch, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck begin to rise. Something's wrong with this fog. The progression of the front line is too uniform to be natural. And if it's not natural…

A sickeningly sweet odor begins to invade my nostrils as I reach for the other, shouting for them to wake up.

In the few seconds it takes to rouse them, I begin to blister.


	48. Chapter 48

Tiny, searing stabs. Wherever the droplets of mist touch my skin.

"Run!" I scream at the others. "Run!"

Finnick snaps awake quickly, rising to counter an enemy. But when he sees the wall of fog, he tosses a still sleeping Mags onto his back and takes off. Peeta is on his feet but not as alert. I grab his arm and begin to propel him through the jungle after Finnick.

"What is it? What is it?" he says in bewilderment.

"Some kind of fog. Poisonous gas. Hurry Peeta!" I urge.

I can tell that however much he denied it during the day, the after effects of hitting the force field have been significant. He's slow, much slower than usual. And then tangle of vines and undergrowth, which unbalance me occasionally, trip him every step.

I look back at the wall of fog extending in a straight line as far as I can see in either direction. My instincts are telling me to leave Peeta behind and take care of myself, but I can't. I have a lot of people all over the country counting us, on me to get both of us out of this.

I lock my fingers tightly into his and say, "Watch my feet. Just try to step where I step." It helps. We seem to move a little faster, but never fast enough to afford a rest, and the mist continues to lap at our heels. Droplets spring free of the body of vapor. They burn, but not like fire. Less a sense of heat and more of intense pain as the chemicals find our flesh and cling to it, and burrow down through the layers of our skin. Our jumpsuits are no help at all. We may as well be dressed in tissue paper, for all the protection it gives.

Finnick, who bounded off initially, stops when he realizes that we are having problems. But this thing is something you cannot fight, only evade. He shouts encouragement, trying to move us along, and the sound of his voice acts as a guide, little more.

Peeta's artificial leg gets caught in a creeper of thorns and sprawls before I can catch him. As I help him up I become aware of something scarier than the blisters, more debilitating than the burns. The left side of his face has sagged, as if the muscles in it has died. The lid droops, almost concealing his eye. His mouth twist in an odd angle toward the ground. "Peeta—" I begin. And that's when I feel the spasms run up my arm.

Whatever the chemical lace fog does is more than burn—it targets our nerves. A whole new kind of fear shoots through me and I yank Peeta forward, which only causes him to stumble again. By the time I get him to his feet, both of my arms are twitching uncontrollably. The fog has move in on us, the body of it is less than a yard away. Something is wrong with Peeta's legs, he's trying to walk but they move in spastic, puppetlike fashion.

I feel him lurch forward and realize Finnick has come back for us and is hauling Peeta along. I wedge my shoulder, which still seems to be under my control, under Peeta's arm and do my best to keep up with Finnick's rapid pace. We put about ten yards between us and the fog when Finnick stops.

"It's no good. I'll have to carry him. Can you take Mags?"

"Yes," I say stoutly, although my heart sinks. It's true that Mags can't weigh more than seventy pounds, but I'm not very big myself. Still. I'm sure I've carried heavier loads. If only my arms would stop jumping around. I squat down and position her over my shoulders, the way she rides Finnick. I straighten my legs, and with locked knees, I can manage her. Finnick has Peeta slung across his back and we move forward, Finnick leading, me following the trail he breaks through the vines.

On the fog comes, silent and steady and flat, except for the grasping tendrils. Although my instincts are to run away from it, I realize that Finnick is moving at a diagonal down the hill. He's trying to keep a distance from the gas while steering us towards the water that surrounds the Cornucopia. _Yes, water,_ I think as the acid droplets bore deeper into me. Now I'm thankful I didn't kill Finnick, because how would I have gotten Peeta out of here alive? So thankful to have someone else on my side, even if temporarily.

It's not Mags fault when I begin falling. She's doing everything she can to be an easy passenger, but the fact is, I can only hold so much weight. Especially now that my right leg seems to be going stiff. The first two times I crash to the ground, I manage to get back to my feet, but the third time, I cannot get my leg to cooperate. As I struggle to get up, it gives out and Mags rolls off and onto the ground before me. I flail around, trying to use the vines and trunks to right myself.

Finnick's back by my side, Peeta's hanging over him. "It's no use," I say. "Can you take them both?" I ask knowing full well that he can't take them.

I can see Finnick's eyes, green in the moonlight. I can see them clear as day. Almost like a cat's, with a strange reflective quality. Maybe because they are shiny with tears. "No," he says. "I can't because my arms aren't working." It's true. His arms jerk uncontrollably at his sides. His hands are empty. Of his three tridents, only one remains, and it's in Peeta's hands. "I'm sorry Mags. I can't do it."

What happens next is so fast, so senseless, I can't even move to stop it. Mags hauls herself up, plants a kiss on Finnick's lips, and then hobbles straight into the fog. Immediately, her body is seized by wild contortions and falls to the ground in a horrible dance.

I want to scream, but my throat is on fire. I take one futile step in her direction when I hear the canon blast, I know that her heart has stopped and that she has died. "Finnick?" I call out hoarsely, but he already turned from the scene, already continued his retreat from the fog. Dragging my useless leg behind me, I stagger after him, having no idea what else to do.

Time and space lose meaning as the fog seems to invade my brain, muddling my thoughts, making everything unreal. Some deep-rooted animal desire for survival keeps me stumbling after Finnick and Peeta, continuing to move, although I'm probably dead already. Parts of me are dead, or are clearly dying. And Mags is. This is something I know, or maybe just I think I know, because it makes no sense at all.

Moonlight glinting on Finnick's bronze hair, beads of searing pain peppering me, a leg turned to wood. I follow Finnick until he collapses on the ground, Peeta still on top of him. I seem to have no ability to stop my own forward motion until I trip over their prone bodies, just one more on the heap. _This where and how we die,_ I think. But the thought is abstract and far less alarming than the current agonies of my body. I hear Finnick groan and manage drag myself off the others. Now I can see the wall of fog, which has taken on a pearly white quality. Maybe it's my eyes playing tricks on me, or the moonlight, but the fog seems to be transforming. Yes, it's becoming thicker, as if it's pressed up against a glass window and is being forced to condense. I squint harder and realize that the fingers no longer protrude from it. In fact, it has stopped moving forward entirely. Like other horrors I have witnessed in the arena, it has reached the end of its territory. Either that or the Gamemakers have decided not to kill us yet.

"It's stopped," I try saying, but only an awful choking sound comes from my swollen mouth. "It's stopped," I say again, and this time I must be clear because both Finnick and Peeta turn their heads to the fog. It begins to rise upward now, as if being slowly vacuumed into the sky. We watch until it has all been sucked away and not the slightest wisp remains.

Peeta rolls off of Finnick, who turns over onto his back. We lie there gasping, twitching, our minds invaded by the poison. After a few minutes pass, Peeta vaguely gestures upward. "Mon-hee" I look up and spot pair of what I guess are monkeys. I have never seen a live monkey—there's nothing like that in our woods back home. But I must have seen a picture, or one in the Games, because when I see the creatures, the same word comes to mind. I think these have orange fur, although it's hard to tell, and are about half the size of a full-grown human. I take the monkeys for a good sign. Surely they would not hang around if the air was deadly. For a while, we quietly observe one another, humans and monkeys.

 _These animals may not be attacking us right now, but that could change at any moment. This is the Hunger Games after all._ I think.

Peeta then struggles to his knees and then crawls down the slope. We all crawl, seeing as how walking is about as remarkable a feat as flying; we crawl until the vines turn into a narrow strip of sandy beach and the warm water that surrounds the Cornucopia laps our faces. I jerk back as if I touched an open flame.

 _Rubbing salt in a wound._ For the first time I truly appreciate the expression, because the salt in the water makes the pain of my wounds so blinding I almost black out. But there's another sensation, of drawing out. I experiment by gingerly placing only my hand in the water. Torturous, yes, but then less so. And through the blue layer of water I see a milky substance leaching out of the wounds on my skin. As the whiteness diminishes, so does the pain. I unbuckle my belt and strip off my jumpsuit, which is little more than a perforated rag. My shoes and undergarments are inexplicably unaffected. Little by little, one small portion of a limb at a time, I soak the poison out of my wounds. Peeta seems to be doing the same. But Finnick backed away from the water at first touch and lies face down in the sand, either unwilling or unable to purge himself.

Finally, when I had survived the worst, opening my eyes underwater, sniffing water into my sinuses and snorting it out, and even gargled repeatedly to rinse out my throat, I'm functionally enough to help Finnick. Some feeling has return to my legs, but my arms are still riddled with spasms. I can't drag Finnick into the water, and possibly the pain would kill him, anyways. So I scoop up shaky handfuls and empty them on his fist. Since he's not underwater, the poison comes out of his wounds just as it went in, in wisps of fog that I take great care to steer clear of. Peeta recovers enough to help me. He cuts away Finnick's jumpsuit. Somewhere he finds to shells that work much better than our hands do. We concentrate on soaking Finnick's arms firsts since they have been so badly damaged, and even though a lot if white stuff pours out of them, he doesn't notice. He just lies there, with his eyes closed giving the occasional moan.

I look around with growing awareness of how dangerous a position we are in. Its night, yes, but this moon gives off too much light for concealment. We're lucky no one has attacked us yet. We could see them coming from the Cornucopia, but if all four Careers attacked us, they'd over power us. If they didn't spot us first, Finnick's moans would give us away soon.

"We've got to get more of him into the water," I whisper. But we can't put him in face-first, not while he's in this condition. Peeta nods at Finnick's feet. We each take one, pull him one hundred and eighty degrees around, and start to drag him into the saltwater. Just a few inches at a time. First his ankles. Wait a few minutes. Up to his midcalf. Wait. Clouds of white swirl out from his flesh and he groans. We continue to detoxify him, bit by bit. What I find is that the longer I stay in the water, the better I feel. Not just my skin, but my brain and my muscle control continues to improve. I can see Peeta's face being to return to normal, his eyelid opens, the grimace leaves his mouth.

Finnick slowly begins to revive. His eyes open, focus on us, and register awareness that he's being help. I rest his head on my lap and we let him soak about ten minutes with everything immersed from the neck down. Peeta and I exchange a smile as Finnick lifts his arms above the seawater.

"There's just your head left, Finnick. That's the worst part, but you'll feel much better after, if you can bear it," Peeta says. We help him sit up and let him our hands as he purges his eyes and nose. His throat is still too raw to speak.

"I'm going to try to tap a tree," I say. My fingers fumble at my belt and find the spile still hanging from its vine.

"Let me make a hole first," Peeta says. "You stay with him. You're the healer."

 _That was a joke._ I think. But I don't say it out loud, since Finnick has enough to deal with already. He got the worst of the fog, although I'm not sure why. Maybe because he's the biggest or maybe because he had to exert himself the most. And then, of course, there's Mags. I'm still don't understand what happened there. Why he not only abandoned her to carry Peeta, but she went along with it. Why she not only questioned it, but ran straight to her death without a moment's hesitation. Was it because she was so old that her days were numbered, anyway? Did they think that Finnick would stand a better chance if he had Peeta and me as allies? The haggard look on Finnick's face told me that this was not the time to ask.

Instead I try to put myself back together. I rescued my mockingjay pin from my ruined jumpsuit and pin it to the strap of my undershirt. The floatation belt must be acid resistant, since it looks good as new. I can swim, so the flotation belt is not necessary, but Brutus blocked my arrow with his, so I buckle it back on, thinking it might offer some protection. I undo my hair, and comb it out with my fingers, thinning it out considerably since the fog droplets damaged it. Then I braid back what's left of it.

Peeta has found a good tree about ten yards from the narrow strip of beach. We can hardly see him, but the sound of his knife against the wooden trunk is crystal clear. I wonder what happened to the awl. Mags must have dropped it or taken it into the fog with her. Anyway, it's gone.

I have moved out a bit further into the shallows, floating alternately on my belly and my back. If the seawater healed me and Peeta, it seems to be transforming Finnick altogether. He begins to move slowly, testing his limbs, and gradually begins to swim. But it's not like me swimming, with the rhythmic strokes, the even pace, it's like watching a sea animal coming back to life. He dives and surfaces, spraying water out of his mouth, rolls over and over in some bizarre corkscrew that makes me dizzy to even watch. And then, when he's been underwater so long I feel certain he's drowned, his head pops up right next to me and I start.

"Don't do that," I say.

"What? Come up or stay under?" he says.

"Either. Neither. Whatever. Just soak in the water and behave," I say. "Or if you feel this good let's go help Peeta."

In the short time it takes to cross the jungle, I become aware of the change. Put it down to years of hunting, or maybe my reconstructed ear works a little better than anyone intended. But I sensed the mass of warm bodies poised above us. They don't need to chatter or scream. The mere breathing of so many is enough.

I take Finnick's arm and he follows my gaze upward. I don't know how they arrived so silently. Perhaps they didn't. We've all been absorbed in restoring our bodies. During that time they assembled. Not five or ten, but scores of monkeys weigh down the limbs of the jungle trees. The pair when we escaped the fog felt like a welcoming party. This crew feels ominous.

I arm my bow with two arrows and Finnick adjust his trident in his hand. "Peeta," I say calmly as possible. "I need your help with something."

"Okay, just a minute. I think I've just about got this," he says still occupied with the tree. "Yes, there. Have you got the spile?"

"I do. But we found something you better take a look at," I continue in a measured tone. "Only move towards us quietly, so you don't startle it." For some reason, I don't want Peeta to notice the monkeys, or even glance in their direction. There are creatures that interpret mere eye contact as aggression.

Peeta turns to us, panting from his work on the tree. The tone of my request has alerted him to some irregularity. "Okay," he says casually. He begins to move through the jungle, and although I know he's trying hard to be quiet, this has never been his strong suit, even with two sound legs. But it's all right, he's moving, and the monkeys are holding their position. He's just five yards from the beach when he senses them. His eyes only dart up for a second, but it's as if he's trigger a bomb. The monkeys explode into a shrieking mass of orange fur and converge on him.

 _Really, Peeta?_ I think because I've never seen animals move so fast. They slide down the vines as if they have been greased. Leap impossible distances from tree to tree. Fangs bared, hackles raised, claws shooting out like switchblades. I may be unfamiliar with monkeys, but animals don't act like this. "Mutts!" I spit out as Finnick and I crash into the greenery.

I know I must make every arrow count, and they do. In the eerie light, I bring down monkey after monkey, targeting eyes and hearts and throats, so that each of them means death. But still it wouldn't be enough without Finnick spearing the beasts like fish and flinging them aside, Peeta slashing away with his knife. I can feel claws on my leg, and down my back, before someone takes out the attacker. The air grows heavy with trample parts, the scent of blood, and the musty stink of monkeys. Peeta and Finnick and I position ourselves in a triangle, a few yards apart, our backs to one another. My hearts sinks as my fingers draw back the last arrow. Then I remember that Peeta had a quiver. And he's not shooting, he's hacking away with that knife. My knife is out now, but the monkeys are quicker, can spring in and out so fast you can barely react.

"Peeta! Your arrows!" I shout.

Peeta turns to see my predicament and his sliding off the quiver when it happens. A monkey lunges out of a tree for his chest. I have no arrows, no way to shoot. I can hear the thud of Finnick's finding another mark and I know his weapon is occupied. Peeta's knife arm is disabled as he is tries to remove the quiver. I throw my knife at the oncoming mutt but the creature somersaults, evading the blade, and stays on trajectory.

Weaponless, defenseless, I do the only thing I can think of. I run for Peeta, to knock him to the ground, to protect his body with mine, even though I know I won't make it in time.

She does though. Materializing, it seems, from thin air. One moment nowhere, the next reeling front of Peeta. Already bloody, mouth open in a high-pitched scream, pupils enlarged so her eyes seem like black holes.

The insane morphling from District 6 throws up her skeletal arms as if to embrace the monkey, and it sinks it fangs into her chest.


	49. Chapter 49

Peeta drops the quiver and buries his knife into the monkey's back, stabbing it again and again until it relaxes its jaw. He kicks the mutt away, bracing for more. I have his arrows, a loaded bow, and Finnick at my back, breathing heavily but not actively engaged.

"Come on, then! Come on!" shouts Peeta, panting with rage. _Shut up Peeta._ I think, but something has happened to the monkeys. They are withdrawing, backing up trees, fading into the jungle, as if some unheard voice calls away. A Gamemaker's voice, telling them this is enough.

"Get her Peeta. We'll cover you." I say to Peeta. Peeta hesitates at first, then he gently lifts the morphling and carries her the last few yards to the beach while Finnick and I keep our weapons at the ready. Except for those orange carcasses on the ground, the monkeys are gone. Peeta stops momentarily to look at the woman's wounds, but can tell from the position on her chest that she isn't going to make it. So he walks out in the sea, just deep enough that she would be buoyant enough that he wasn't expending much strength.

When I was certain that the monkeys were truly gone I went to check on the morphling. I wasn't near the pair, and I could tell that she wasn't going to make it. Peeta was keeping her body above the surface with the help of the sea. I see the cloth that surrounds the wounds was covered in blood, and that there was a bit of a trickle following from the wounds. The wounds look far less dangerous than they really are, but the real damage is inside. From the position of the openings, I'm almost certain the beast has rupture something vital, a lung, or maybe even her heart.

Finnick was on the beach standing guard, as we watch her start gasping for air. Sagging skin, sickly green, her rib's as prominent as a child who died of starvation. Surely she could afford food, but turned to morphling just as Haymitch turned to drink, I guess. Everything about her speaks of waste—her body, her life, the vacant look in her eyes. I hold one of her twitching hands, unclear whether it moves the poison that affects our nerves, shock of the attack, or withdrawal from the drug that was her sustenance. There is nothing we can do. Nothing but stay with her while she dies.

I look back to see that Finnick has his trident at the ready. I wanted to go talk to Finnick, but she grips my hand so tightly I would have to pry off her fingers, and I don't have the strength for that kind of cruelty. I think of Rue, how maybe I could sing a song or something. But I don't even know the morphling's name, let alone if she likes songs. I just know she's dying.

Peeta leans in on the other side of her and strokes her hair. When he begins to speak in a soft voice, it's almost nonsensical, but the words aren't for me. "With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby's skin. Or deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice."

The morphling stares into Peeta's eyes, hanging onto his words.

"One time I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur. You see, I kept thinking it was yellow, but it was much more than that. Layers of all sorts of colors. One by one," says Peeta.

The morphling's breathing is slowing into shallow catch breathes. Her free hand dabbles in the blood on her chest, making the tiny swirling motions she so loved to paint with.

"I haven't figure out a rainbow yet. They come so quickly and leave so soon. I never have enough time to capture them. Just a bit of blue here a bit of purple there. And then they fade away. Back into the air," says Peeta.

The morphling seems mesmerized by Peeta's words. Entranced. She lifts up a trembling hand and paints what I think is a flower on Peeta's face.

"Thank you. It looks beautiful." Peeta whispers.

For a moment, the morphlings face lights up in a grin and she makes a small squeaking sound. Then her blood dappled hand falls into the ocean, and she gives one last huff of air, and then the cannon fire. The grip on my hand releases

Peeta gives the body a gentle push, and we watch the morphling float out towards the Cornucopia. The body floats there for a little bit, then the hovercraft and the four-pronged claw drops, encase her, carries her into the night sky, and she's gone.

As we make our way back onto the beach, I see that Finnick has a fist full of my arrows still covered in monkey blood. "Thought you might want these." Finnick says handing me the arrows.

"Thanks," I say. I wade into the water and wash the gore off, from my weapons, from my wounds. By the time I return to the jungle to get moss to dry them, all the monkeys' bodies had vanished.

"Where did they go?" I asked.

"We don't know exactly. The vines shifted, and they were gone," says Finnick.

We stare at the jungle, numb and exhausted. In the quiet, I noticed that the spots where the fog droplets touched my skin have scabbed over. They've stopped hurting and begun to itch. Intensely. I try to think of this as a good sign. That they're healing. I glance over to Peeta, at Finnick, and see that they're scratching at their damaged faces. Yes, even Finnick's beauty has been marred by this night.

"Don't scratch," I say wanting badly to scratch myself. But I know it's the advice my mother would give. "You'll only bring infection. Think it's safe to try for the water again?"

We make our way back to the tree that Peeta was tapping. Finnick and I stand guard with our weapons poised while he works the spile in, but no threat appears. Peeta finds a good vein and the water begins to gush from the spile. We slack our thirst, let the warm water pour over our itching bodies. We fill a handful of shells with drinking water and head back to the beach.

It's still night, but dawn can't be too many hours away. Unless the Gamemakers want it to be. "Why don't you to get some rest. I'll keep watch." I said.

"No, Katniss. I'd rather," Finnick says. I look at his face, into his eyes, and realize that he's barely holding back tears. The least I can do is let him have the privacy to mourn her.

"Wake me when you get tired, or if there's another trap," I say. I lie down with Peeta on the sand, who drifts off at once. I stare into the night, and thinking of what a difference a day makes. How yesterday morning, I was ready to kill Finnick, but now I'm willing to sleep with him as my guard. He saved Peeta but let Mags sacrifice her, which still bothers me. Only that I can never settle the balance owed between us. All I can do is go to sleep and let him grieve in peace. And so I do.

It's midmorning when I open my eyes again. Peeta's still out beside me. Above us, a mat of grass is suspended above us on branches shields our faces from the sunlight. I sit up and see that Finnick's hands have not been idle. Two woven bowls are filled with fresh water. A third holds a mess of shellfish.

Finnick sits on the sand, cracking them open with a stone. "They're better fresh," he says, ripping a chunk of flesh from the shell and popping it into his mouth. His eyes are still puffy but I pretend no to notice.

My stomach begins to growl at the smell of the food and I reach for one. The sight of my fingernails, caked with blood, makes me stop. I've been scratching my skin raw in my sleep.

"I've heard that if you scratch the wounds that it will bring on infection" says Finnick.

"So I've heard." I said, rolling my eyes at Finnick. I go into the saltwater and wash the blood off, trying to figure out which I hate more, the pain or the itching. Fed up, I stomp back onto the beach, turn my face upward, and snap. "Hey, Haymitch, if you're not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin."

It's almost hilarious how quickly the parachute appears above me. I reach out and the tube lands squarely in my open hand. "About time," I say, but I couldn't keep the scowl off of my face. Haymitch. What I wouldn't give to have about five minutes of conversation with him.

I plunk down on the sand next to Finnick and screw off the lid off the tube. Inside is a thick, dark ointment with a pungent smell, a combination of tar and pine needles. I wrinkle my nose as I squeeze a glob of the medicine onto my palm and begin to massage it into my leg. A sound of pleasure escapes my lips as the stuff eradicates my itching. It also stains my scabby skin a ghastly gray-green. As I start on my second leg I toss the tube to Finnick, who eyes me doubtfully.

"It looks like you're decomposing," says Finnick. But I guess the itching wins out, because after a minute Finnick begins treating his own skin, too. Really, the combination of the scabs and the ointment looks hideous. I can't help enjoying his distress.

"Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven't look pretty?" I say.

"It must be. The sensation's completely new. How have you managed it all these years?" he asks.

"Just avoid mirrors. You'll forget about it," I say.

"Not if I keep looking at you," he says.

We slather ourselves down, even taking turns rubbing the ointment into each other's backs where the undershirts didn't protect our skin. "I'm going to wake Peeta," I say.

"No wait," Finnick says. "Let's do it together. Put our faces right in front of his."

Well, there's so little opportunity left in my life for fun, I agree. We position ourselves on either side of Peeta, lean over until our faces are inches from his nose, and give him a shake. "Peeta. Peeta, wake up," I say in a soft, singsong voice.

His eyelids flutter open and then he jumps like we stabbed him. "Aa!"

Finnick and I fall back on the sand laughing our heads off. Every time we try to stop, we look at Peeta's attempt to maintain a disdainful expression and it sets us off again. By the time we pull ourselves together, I'm thinking that maybe Finnick Odair is all right. Not as vain as or self-important as I first thought. Not so bad at all, really. And just as I've come to that conclusion a parachute lands next to us with a fresh loaf of bread. Remembering from last year how Haymitch's gifts are often timed to send a message, I make a note to myself. _Be friends with Finnick. You'll get food._

Finnick turns the bread over in his hands, examining the crust. A bit too possessively. It's not necessary. It's got the green tint from seaweed that the bread from District 4 always has. We all know it's his. Maybe he just realize how precious it is, and it may be the last loaf of bread that he will ever see. Maybe it's a memory of Mags he associates with the crust. But all he says is, "This will go good with the shellfish."

While I help Peeta coat his skin with the ointment, Finnick deftly cleans the meat from the shellfish. We gather round and eat the delicious sweet flesh with the salty bread from District 4.

We all look monstrous—the ointment seems to be causing some of the scabs to peel—but I'm glad for the medicine. Not just because it gives us relief from the itching, but also because it acts as protection from the blazing white sun in the pink sky. By its position, I estimate it must be going on ten o'clock, that we've been in the arena for about a day. Eleven of us are dead. Thirteen alive. Somewhere in the jungle, ten are concealed. Three or four are the Careers. I don't really trying to remember who they are.

For me the jungle has evolved from a place of protection to a sinister trap. I know at some point we will be forced to reenter its depths, either to hunt or be hunted, but for right now I'm planning to stick to stick to our little beach. And I don't hear Peeta and Finnick suggesting to do otherwise. For a while the jungle seems almost static, humming, shimmering, but not flaunting its dangers. Then, in the distance, comes screaming. Across from us, a wedge of the jungle begins to vibrate. An enormous wave crests high on the hill, toppling the trees and roaring down the hill. It hits the existing seawater with such force that, even though we're are far away as we can get, the surf bubbles up around our knees, setting our few possessions afloat. Among the three of us, we manage to collect everything before it's carried off, except our chemical-ridden jumpsuits, which are so eating away no one cares if we lose them.

A canon fires. We see a hovercraft appear over the area where the wave began and pluck a body from the trees. _Twelve._ I think.

The circle of water slowly calms down, having absorbed the giant wave. We rearrange our things back on the wet sand and are about to settle down when I see them. Three figures about two spokes away, stumbling onto the beach. "There," I say quietly, nodding in the direction of the new comers. Peeta and Finnick follow my gaze. As if by previous agreement, we fade back into the shadows of the jungle.

The trio's in bad shape—you can see that right off. One is practically being dragged out by the second, and the third wanders in loopy circles, as if deranged. They're a solid brick-red color, as if they'd been dipped in paint and left out to dry.

"Who's that?" Peeta asks. "Or what? Muttations?"

I draw back an arrow, readying for an attack. But all that happens is that the one who was being dragged collapses on the beach. The dragger stomps ground in frustration and, in apparent fit of temper, turns and shoves the circling, deranged one over.

Finnick's face lights up. "Johanna!" he calls, and runs for the red things.

"Finnick!" I hear Johanna's voice reply.

I exchange a look with Peeta. "What now?" I ask.

"We can't really leave Finnick," he says.

"Guess not. Come on, then," I say grouchily, because even if I had a list of allies, Johanna Mason would definitely not have been on it. The two of us tromp down the beach to where Finnick and Johanna are just meeting up. As we move closer I see her companions, and confusion sets in. That's Beetee on the ground on his back and Wiress regains her feet to continuing making loops. "She's got Wiress and Beetee."

"Nuts and Volts?" says Peeta, equally puzzled. "I got to hear how this happened."

I punch Peeta in his arm for using Beetee and Wiress derogatory nicknames. "Sorry." Peeta apologizes quickly.

When we reach them, Johanna's gesturing toward the jungle and talking to Finnick very fast. "We thought it was rain, you know because of the lightning, and we were all thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn't see, you couldn't speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around trying to get out of it. That's when Blight hit the force field."

"I'm sorry, Johanna," Finnick says. It takes me a moment to place Blight. I think he was Johanna's male counterpart from District 7, but I hardly remember seeing him. Come to think of it, I don't think he showed up for training.

"Yeah, well, he wasn't much, but he was from home," she says. "And he left me alone with these two." She nudges Beetee, who is barely conscious, with her shoes. "He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—"

We all look over at Wiress, who's circling around, coated in dried blood, murmuring, "Tick, tock. Tick, tock."

"Yeah we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock," says Johanna. This seems to draw Wiress in her direction, and she careens into Johanna, who shoves her harshly to the beach. "Just stay down, will you?"

"Lay off, will you?" I snap. _Something about Wiress' state of mind, and how many times she has said tick tock, over and over again, strikes me as odd. As if her mind has been damaged and the last thing she can remember before the damage is the sound a clock makes._ I think.

Johanna narrows her eyes at me in hatred. "Lay off her?" she hisses. "Who do you think got them out of the bleeding jungle for you? You—" Finnick tosses her writhing body over his shoulder and carries her into the water to dunk her, repeated, in the water while she screams a lot of really insulting things at me. But I don't shoot her because she's with Finnick, and because Haymitch decided to interfere again.

"Again Haymitch, really." I said with a sigh.

"Well. You did want them originally," he reminds.

"Yeah, I did. Originally." I say but I leave out the part about their pair technological prowess. I look down at Beetee's inert body. "But I won't have them for long if we don't do something." 

Peeta lifts Beetee up in his arms and I take Wiress by the hand and go back to our little beach camp. I sit Wiress in the shallows and wash her up a bit, but she clutches her hands together and occasionally mumbles, "Tick, tock." I unhook Beetee's belt and a heavy metal cylinder attached to the side with a rope of vines. I can't tell what it is, but he thought it was worth saving, I'm not going to be the one who loses it. I toss it up on the sand. Beetee's clothes are glued to him with blood, so Peeta holds him in the water while I loosen them. It takes some time to get his jumpsuit off, and then we find that is undergarments are saturated in blood as well. There's no choice but to strip him naked to get him clean, but I have to say that doesn't make much of an impression on me anymore. Our kitchen table has been full of naked men this year. You kind of get used to it after a while.

We put Finnick's mat down and lay Beetee down on his stomach so we can examine his back. There's a gash running about six inches long running from his shoulder blade to below his ribs. Fortunately it's not too deep. He's lost a lot of blood, though—you can tell by the pallor of his skin—and it's still oozing out of the wound.

I sit back on my heels, trying to think. What do I have to work with? Seawater? I feel like my mother when her first line of defense for treating everything is snow. I look over at the jungle. I bet there's a whole pharmacy in there if I knew how to use it. But these aren't my plants. Then I think about the moss that Mags gave me to blow my nose. "Be right back," I tell Peeta. Fortunately the stuff seems to be pretty common in the jungle. I rip an armful from the nearby trees and carry it back to the beach. I make a thick pad out of the moss, place it on Beetee's cut, and secure it by tying vines around his body. We get some water into him and pull him into the shade at the edge of the jungle.

"I think it's all we can do, I say.

"It's good. You're good with this healing stuff," he says. "It's in your blood."

"No, I have my father's blood," I say, shaking my head. The kind that quickens during a hunt, not an epidemic. "I'm going to check on Wiress."

I pat Peeta's hand, and then grab a handful of moss as I join Wiress in the shallows. She doesn't resist as I work off her clothing, scrubbing the blood from her skin. But her eyes are dilated with fear, and when I speak, she doesn't respond except to say with ever-increasing urgency. "Tick, tock." She does seem to be trying to tell me something, but with no Beetee to explain her thoughts, I'm at a loss.

"Yes, tick, tock. Tick, tock," I say. This seems to calm her down a little. I wash her jumpsuit until there's hardly a trace of blood, and help her back into it. It's not damaged like ours were. Her belts fine, so I fasten that on, too. Then I pin her undergarments, along with Beetee's, under some rock and let them soak.

By the time I've rinsed Beetee's jumpsuit, a shiny and clean Johanna and a peeling Finnick have joined us. For a while, Johanna gulps water and stuffs herself with shellfish while I try to coax some into Wiress. Finnick tells about the fog and the monkeys in a detached, almost clinical voice, avoiding the most important detail of the story.

Everybody offers to guard while the others rest, but in the end, its Johanna and I who stay up. Me because I'm really rested, she just simply refuses to lie down. The two of us sit in silence until the others have gone to sleep.

Johanna glances over at Finnick, to be sure, then turns to me. "How did you lose Mags?"

"In the fog. Finnick had Peeta. I had Mags for a while. Then I couldn't lift her. I asked Finnick to take Mags, even though I know he couldn't take her. Not with Peeta on his back. She kissed him and then walked right into the poison," I say.

"She was Finnick's mentor, you know," Johanna says accusingly.

"No, I didn't," I say.

"She was half his family," she says a few moments later, but there was less venom behind it.

We watch the water lap up over the undergarments. "So what were you doing with Nuts and Volts?" I ask.

"I told you—I got them for you. Haymitch said that if we were going to be allies that I would have to bring them to," Johanna says. "That's what you told him, right?"

 _There was no deal involving Johanna._ I think. But I nod my head in assent. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"I hope so." She gives me a look filled with loathing, like I'm the biggest drag on her life. I wonder if this is what it's like to have an older sister that hates you.

"Tick, tock," I hear behind me. I turn to see that Wiress has crawled over. Her eyes focused on the jungle.

"Oh, goody, she's back. Okay, I'm going to sleep. You and Nuts can stand guard together," Johanna says. I shoot Johanna a dirty look as she goes over and flings herself down beside Finnick.

"Tick, tock," whispers Wiress. I guide her in front of me and get her to lie down, stroking her arm to soothe her. She drifts off, stirring restlessly, occasionally sighing out her phrase. "Tick, tock."

"Tick, tock," I agree softly. "It's time for bed. Tick, tock. Go to sleep."

The sun rises in the sky until it's directly over us. _It must be noon_ , I think absently. Not that it matters. Across the water, off to the right, I see an enormous flash as the lightning bolt strikes the tree and the electrical storm begins again. Right in the same area it did last night. Someone must have moved into its range, trigger the attack. I sit for a while and watch the lightning, keeping Wiress calm, lulled into a peacefulness by the lapping water. I think of last night, how the lightning began after just after the bell tolled. Twelve bongs.

"Tick, tock," Wiress says, surfacing into consciousness for a moment and then going back under.

Twelve bongs last night. Like it was midnight. Then the lightning. The sun overhead now. Like it's noon. And lightning.

Slowly I rise and observe the arena. The lightning there. In the next pie wedge over came the blood rain, where Johanna, Wiress, and Beetee were caught. We would have been in the third section, right next to that, when the fog appeared. And soon as it was sucked away, the monkeys began to gather in the fourth. My head snaps to the other side. A couple of hours ago, at around ten, that wave came out of the second section from the left of where the lightning is strikes now. At noon. At midnight. At noon.

"Tick, tock," Wiress says in her sleep as the lightning ceases and the blood rain begins just to the right of it, her words suddenly make sense.

"Oh," I say under my breath. "Tick, tock." My eyes sweep the full circle of the arena and I know she's right. "Tick, tock. This is a clock."


	50. Chapter 50

A clock. I can almost see the hands ticking around the twelve-sectioned face of the arena. Each hour begins a new horror, a new Gamemaker weapon, and ends the previous. Lightning, fog, blood rain, monkeys—those are the first four hours on the clock. At ten, the wave. I don't know what happens in the other seven, but I know Wiress is right.

At present, the blood rain is falling and we're on the beach right beneath the monkey segment, far too close to fog for my liking. Do the various attacks stay within their confines of the jungle? Not necessarily. The wave didn't. If the fog leaches out of the jungle, or the monkeys return…

"Get up," I order, shaking Peeta and Finnick and Johanna awake. "Get up—we have to move." There's enough time to explain the clock theory to them about Wiress tick-tocking and how the movement of the invisible hands trigger a deadly force in each section. I think I convinced just everyone who's conscious except Johanna, who's naturally opposed to liking anything I suggest. But even she agrees that it's better to be safe than sorry.

While the other's collect what few possessions and get Beetee back into his jumpsuit, I rouse Wiress. She wakes with a panicked "tick, tock!"

"Yes, tick, tock, the arena's a clock. It's a clock, Wiress, you were right," I say. "You were right."

Relief floods her face—I guess because someone finally understands what she's known probably from the first tolling of the bells "Midnight."

"It starts at midnight," I confirm.

A memory struggles to surface in my brain. I see a clock. No it's a watch, resting in Plutarch Heavensbee palm. " _It starts at midnight,_ " Plutarch said. And then the mockingjay lit up briefly and then vanished. In retrospect it was like he was giving me a clue about the arena. But why would he? At the time, I was no more a tribute in the Games than he was. Maybe be he thought it would help me as a mentor. Or maybe this was his plan all along.

Wiress nods at the blood rain. "One thirty," she says.

"Exactly. One thirty. And at two, a terrible poisonous fog begins there," I say pointing at the nearby jungle. "So we had to move somewhere safe for now." She smiles and stands up obediently. "Are you thirsty?" I hand her a woven bowl and she gulps down about a quart. Finnick gives her the last bit of bread and she gnaws on it. With the inability to communicate overcome, she's functioning again.

I check my weapons. Tie up the spile and tube of medicine in the parachute and fix it to my belt with a vine.

Beetee is still pretty out of it, but when Peeta begins to lift him, he objects. "Wire," he says.

"She's right here," Peeta tells him "Wiress is fine. She's coming, too."

But Beetee still struggles. "Wire," he insists.

"Oh, I know what he wants," says Johanna impatiently.

She crosses the beach and picks up the cylinder we took from his belt when we were bathing him. It's coated in a thick layer of congealed blood. "This worthless thing. It's some kind of wire or something. It's how he got cut. Running up to the Cornucopia to get this. I don't know what kind of weapon it's supposed to be. I guess you could pull off a piece and make a garrote or something. But really, could you see Beetee garroting someone?"

"He won his Games with wire. Setting up that electrical trap," says Peeta. "It's the best weapon he could have."

There's something odd about Johanna not putting this together. Something that doesn't quite ring true. Suspicious. "Seems like something you'd have figured that out," I say. "Since you have been throwing his nickname, Volts, around all the time."

Johanna's eyes narrow dangerously at me. "Yeah, that was really stupid of me, wasn't it?" she says. "I guess I must have been distracted by keeping your little friends alive. While you were… what, again? Getting Mags killed off."

I burst out into laughed, which was insensitive because it come on the heels of the accusation, which I couldn't stop even if I tried. I look at Johanna and realize one thing. She had someone taken from her, and she is aching for revenge before she dies.

"Yes. I got Mags killed, but unlike you Mags wasn't a burden. She sacrificed herself, so that the three of us could get away. You don't want be here? Fine, leave, nobody's stopping you. Though you wouldn't last an hour out there by yourself. Or you can stay here, and get what you want." I said.

Johanna shoots me a bewildered look, but Finnick cuts in. "Maybe we all had better be careful where we step," Finnick says. And then he takes the coil and places it on Beetee's chest. "There's your wire, Volts. Watch where you plug it in at."

Peeta picks up the now-unresisting Beetee. "Where to?"

"I'd like to go to the Cornucopia and watch. Just to make sure we are right about the clock," says Finnick. It seems as good a plan as any. Besides, I wouldn't mind going over our weapons again any. And there are six of us now. Even if you count Beetee and Wiress out, there are four good fighters. It's completely different from where I was last year at this point. Yes, it's great to have allies, as long as you can ignore the fact that you'll have to kill them.

Beetee and Wiress will probably find some way to die on their own. If we have to run from something, how far would they get? Johanna, frankly, I could easily kill if it came down to protecting Peeta. Or if I had to shut her up. What I really need is someone to take Finnick out for me, since I don't think I can do it personally. Not after all he has done for Peeta. I think about maneuvering him into some encounter with the Careers. Its cold I know. But what are my options? Now that we know about the clock, he probably won't die in the jungle, so someone's going to have to kill him in battle.

Because the thoughts so repellent, my mind frantically tries to change the topic. But the only thing to distract myself from my current situation is fantasizing about killing President Snow. Not very pretty daydreams for a seventeen-year-old girl, I guess, but very satisfying.

We walk down the nearest sand strip, approaching the Cornucopia with care, just in case the Careers are concealed there. I doubt they are, because we've been on the beach for hours and there's no sign of life. The area's abandoned, as I expected. Only the big golden horn, and the picked-over pile of weapons remain.

When Peeta lays Beetee in the bit of shade the Cornucopia provides, he calls out to Wiress. She crouches besides him and he puts the coil of wire in her hands. "Clean it, will you?" he asks.

Wiress nods, and scampers over to the water's edge, where she dunks the coil in the water. She starts singing quietly some funny little song, about a mouse running up a clock. It must be for children, but it seems to make her happy.

"On, not that song again," Johanna says rolling her eyes. I in turn roll my eyes at Johanna. "She sang that song for hours before she started tick, tocking."

Suddenly Wiress stands up very straight, and points to the jungle. "Two," she says.

I follow her finger to where the wall of fog has just begun to seep onto the beach. "Yes, look! Wiress is right. It's two o'clock and the fog has started."

"Like clockwork," says Peeta. "You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress."

Wiress smiles and goes back to singing and dunking her coil. "Oh, she's more than smart," says Beetee. "She intuitive." We all turn to look at Beetee who seems to be coming back to life. "She can sense things before anyone else can. Like a canary in one of your coal mines."

"What's that?" Finnick asks.

"It's a bird we take down into the mines to warn us if there's bad air," I say.

"What's it do, die?" Johanna askes.

"It stops singing first. That's when you should get out. But if the air's too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you." I don't want to talk about dying songbirds they bring up thoughts of my dad's death and Rue's death and Maysilee Donner's death and my mom inheriting her songbird. Oh, great, now I'm thinking of Gale, deep down in that mine, with President Snow's threat hanging over his head. So easy to make it look like an accident down there. A silent canary, a spark, and nothing more.

I go back to imagining killing President Snow.

Despite her annoyance with Wiress, Johanna's as happy as I've ever seen her in the arena. While I'm adding to the stock of my arrows, she pokes around until she comes up with a pair of lethal-looking axes. It seems like an odd choice until I see her throw one of the axes with such force it sticks into the softened gold of the Cornucopia. Of course. Johanna Mason. District 7. Lumber. I bet she's been tossing around axes since she could toddle. It's like Finnick with his trident. Or Beetee with his wire. Rue with her knowledge of plants. I realize it's just another disadvantage the District 12 tributes have faced over the years. We don't go down in the mines until we're eighteen. It looks like most of the other tributes learn something of their trade early on. There are things you learn in the mine that could help in the Games. Wielding a pick. Blowing things up. Give you an edge. The way my hunting did. But we learn them too late.

While I've been messing with the weapons, Peeta's been squatting on the ground, drawing something with the tip of his knife on a large, smooth leaf he brought from the jungle. I look over his shoulder and see that he's creating a map of the arena. In the center is the Cornucopia on its circle of sand with the twelve strips branching out from it. It looks like a pie cut into twelve equal wedges. There's another circle representing the water line and slightly larger one indicating the edge of the jungle. "Look how the jungles positioned," he says to me.

I examine the Cornucopia and see what he means. "The tail points towards twelve o'clock," I say.

"Right so this is the top of the clock," he says scratching numbers one through twelve around the clock face. "Twelve to one is lightning zone," he writes lightning tiny print in the corresponding wedge, then works clockwise adding b _lood_ , _fog_ , and _monkeys_ in the following sections.

"And ten to eleven is the wave," I say. He adds it. Finnick and Johanna join us at this point, armed to the teeth with axes, knives, and tridents.

"Did you notice anything unusual in the others?" I asked Johanna and Beetee, since they might have seen something we didn't. But all they saw was a lot of blood. "I guess they could hold anything."

"I'm going to mark the ones where we know that the Gamemakers' weapons follow us past the jungle, so we stay clear of those," says Peeta, drawing a diagonal lines on the fog and wave beaches. Then he sits back. "It's more than what we knew this morning, anyways."

We all nod in agreement, and that's when I noticed it. The silence. Our canary has stopped singing.

I don't wait. I load an arrow as I twist to see a dripping-wet Gloss letting Wiress slide to the ground, her throat slit open in a bright red smile. The point of my arrow disappears into his right temple, and in the instant it takes for me to reload, Johanna buries her axe blade in Cashmere's chest. Finnick knocks away a spear that Brutus threw at Peeta and takes Enobaria knife in his thigh. If there wasn't a Cornucopia to hide behind, they'd be dead, like both of the tributes from District 2. I spring into pursuit. _Boom! Boom! Boom!_ The cannon confirms there's no way to help Wiress, no need to finish off Cashmere or Gloss. My allies and I are rounding the horn, starting to give chase to Enobaria and Brutus, who are sprinting down a sand trap toward the jungle.

Suddenly the ground jerks beneath my feet and I'm flung on my side in the sand. The circle of land that holds the Cornucopia begins to spinning fast, really fast, and I can see the jungle going by in a blur. I feel the centrifugal force pulling me towards the water and dig my hands and feet into the sand, trying to get some purchase on the unstable ground. Between the flying sand and the dizziness, I have to squeeze my eyes shut. There is literally nothing I can do but hold on until, with no deceleration, we slam to a stop.

Coughing and queasy, I sit up slowly to see my companions in the same condition. Finnick, Johanna, and Peeta have hung on. Three dead bodies have been thrown out into the seawater.

The whole thing, from missing Wiress song to now, can't have taken longer than a minute or two. We sit there panting, scraping sand out of our mouths.

"Where's Volts?" Johanna asks. Were on our feet. One wobble circle of the Cornucopia confirms he's gone. Finnick spots him twenty yards out in the water, barely keeping afloat, and swims out and hauls him in.

That's when I remember the wire and remember how important it was to him. I look around frantically for it. Where is it? Where is it? And then I see it, still clutched in Wiress' hands, far out in the water. My stomach contracts at what I must do next. "Cover me," I say to the others. I toss aside my weapons and race down the strip closes to her body. Without slowing down, I dive in the water and start for her. Out the corner of my eye I see the hovercraft appearing over us, the claw starting to descend to taker away. But I don't stop. I just keep swimming as hard as I can and end up slamming into her body. I come up gasping, trying to avoid swallowing the blood-stained water that spreads out from her open wound in her neck. She floating on her back borne up by her belt and death, staring into the relentless sun. As I tread water, I have to wrench the wire from her fingers, because her final grip on it is so tight. There's nothing I can do but close her eyelids, whisper good-bye, and swim away. By the time I swing the coil up onto sand and pull myself from the water, her body's already gone. But I can still taste her blood mingled with the sea salt.

I walk back to the Cornucopia. Finnick's gotten Beetee back alive, although a little water logged, sitting up and snorting water out. He has the good sense to hang onto his glasses, so at least he can see. I place the reel of wire on his lap. It's sparkling clean, no blood left at all. He unravels a piece of wire, and runs it through his fingers. For the first time I see it, and it's unlike any wire I've ever seen. A pale golden color and as fine as hair. I wonder how long it is. There must be miles of the stuff to fill the large spool. But I don't ask, because I know he's thinking of Wiress.

I look at the other's sober faces. Now Finnick, Johanna, and Beetee have lost their District partner. I cross over to Peeta and wrap my arms around him, and for a while we all stay silent.

"Let's get off this stinking island," Johanna says finally. There's only the matter of our weapons, which we largely retained. Fortunately the vines here are strong and the spile and tube of medicine are wrapped up in the parachute are still secured to my belt. Finnick strips of his undershirt and ties it around the wound that Enobaria's made in his thigh; it's not deep. Beetee thinks he can walk now if we go slowly, so I help him up. We decide to head to the beach at twelve o'clock. That should provide hours of calm and keep us clear of any poisonous residue. And then Peeta, Johanna, and Finnick head off in three different directions.

"Twelve o'clock, right?" says Peeta. "The tail points at twelve."

"Before the spun us," says Finnick. "I was judging by the sun.

"The sun only tells you it's going on four, Finnick." I say.

"I think Katniss's point is, knowing the time doesn't mean you necessarily know where four is on the clock. You might have a general idea of the direction. Unless you consider maybe they shifted the outer ring of the jungle as well," says Beetee.

No, Katniss's point was much more basic than that. Beetee's articulated a theory far beyond my comment on the sun. But I nod my head like I've been on the same page the whole time. "Yes, so any of these paths could lead to twelve o'clock," I say.

We circle the Cornucopia, scrutinizing the jungle. It has baffling uniformity. I remember the tall tree that took the first lighting strike at twelve o'clock, but ever sector has a similar tree. Johanna has the idea to follow Enobaria and Brutus's tracks, but they have been blown or washed away. There's no way to tell where anything is. "I should never had mentioned the clock," I say bitterly. "Now they have taken that advantage away as well."

"Only temporarily," says Beetee. "At ten, we'll see that wave again and be back on track again."

"Yes, they can't redesign the whole arena," says Peeta.

"It doesn't matter," says Johanna impatiently. "You had to tell us or we would never had move our camp in the first place, brainless." Ironically, her logical, if demeaning, reply is the only one that comforts me. Yes, I had to tell them to get them to move. "Come on, I need water. Anyone got a good gut feeling?"

We randomly choose a path and take it, having no idea what number we're headed for. When we reach the jungle, we peer into it, trying to decipher what maybe waiting inside. "Well, it must be monkey hour. And I don't see any of them in there," says Peeta. "I'm going to tap a tree."

"No, it's my turn," says Finnick.

"I'll at least watch your back," Peeta says.

"Katniss can do that," says Johanna. "We need you to draw another map. The other washed away." She yanks a large leaf off a tree and hands it to him

I give Peeta a strange look, and then follow Finnick. For a moment, I'm suspicious they're trying to divide and kill us. But it doesn't make sense. I'll have an advantage on Finnick if he's dealing with the tree and Peeta's much bigger than Johanna. We walk about fifteen yards into the jungle, where Finnick finds a good tree and starts stabbing to make a hole with his knife.

As I stand there, weapons ready, I can't lose the uneasy feeling that something is going on and that it has to do with Peeta. I retrace our steps, stating from the moment the gong rang out, searching for the source of my discomfort. Finnick towing Peeta off his plate, Finnick reviving Peeta after the force field stops his heart. Mags running into the fog so Finnick can carry Peeta. The morphling hurling herself in front of him to block the monkey's attack. The fight with the Career's was so quick, but didn't Finnick block Brutus's spear from hitting Peeta even though it meant taking Enobaria's knife in the thigh? And even now Johanna has him draw a map on a leaf rather than risking the jungle…

There's no question about it. For reasons completely unfathomable to me, some of the other victors are trying to keep him alive, even if it means sacrificing themselves.

I'm dumbfounded. For one thing that's my job. For another, it doesn't make any sense. Only one of us can get out of here. So why have they chosen Peeta to protect? What has Haymitch possibly said to them, what has he bargained with to make them put Peeta's life above their own?

I know my reason for keeping Peeta alive. He's my lover, and this is my way to defy the Capitol, to subvert its terrible Games. But if I had no ties to him, what would make me want to save him, to choose him over myself? Certainly he is brave, but we all have to be brave enough to survive a Games. There is that quality of goodness that is hard to overlook, but still… then I think of it, what Peeta can do so much better than the rest of us. He can use words. He obliterated the rest of the field at both interviews. And maybe it's because that underlying goodness that he can move a crowd—no, a country—to his side with the turn of a simple sentence.

I remember thinking that was the gift the leader of our revolution should have. Has Haymitch convinced the others of this? That Peeta's tongue would have a far greater power against the Capitol than any physical strength the rest of us could claim? I don't know. It still seems like a really long leap for some of the tributes. I mean, we're talking about Johanna Mason here. But what other explanation could there be for their decided efforts to keep him alive?

"Katniss, got the spile?" Finnick asks, snapping me back to reality. I cut the vine that ties the spile to my belt and hold the metal tube out to him.

That's when I hear the scream. So full of fear and pain it ices my blood. And so familiar. I drop the spile, forgetting where I am at and what lies ahead, only that I must reach her, protect her. I run wildly in the direction of the voice, heedless of danger, ripping through vines and branches, through anything that keeps me from reaching her.

From reaching my little sister.


	51. Chapter 51

_Where is she? What are they doing to her?_ "Prim!" I cry out. "Prim!" Only another agonizing scream answers me. _How did she get here? Why is she a part of the Games?_ "Prim!"

Vines cut into my face and arms, creepers grab my feet. But I am getting closer to her. Closer. Very close now. Sweat pours down my face, stinging the healing acid wounds. I pant, trying to get some use out of the warm, moist air that seems depleted of oxygen. Prim makes a sound—such a lost, irretrievable sound—that I can't imagine what they have done to evoke it.

"Prim!" I rip through a wall of green into a small clearing and the sound repeats directly above me. Above me? My head whips back. Do they have her up in the trees? I desperately search the branches and find nothing. "Prim?" I say pleadingly. I hear her but I can't see her. Her next wail rings out, clear as a bell, and there's no mistaking the source. It's coming from the mouth of a small, crest black bird perched on a branch ten feet above me. And then I understand.

It's a jabberjay.

I've never seen one before—I thought they no longer existed—and for a moment, as I lean against the trunk of the tree, clutching the stitch in my side, I examine it. The muttation, the forerunner, the father. I pull up a mental image of a mocking bird, fuse it with a jabberjay, and yes, I can see how they mated to make to make my mockingjay. There is nothing about the bird that suggest that it's a mutt. Nothing except for the horribly lifelike sounds of Prim's voice streaming from its mouth. I silence it with an arrow in its throat. The bird falls to the ground. I remove my arrow, and wring its neck for good measure. Then I hurl the revolting thing into the jungle. No degree of hunger would tempt me to eat the thing.

 _It wasn't real,_ I tell myself. _Just like the muttation wolves last year weren't really dead tributes. It's just a sadistic trick of the Gamemakers._

Finnick crashes into the clearing to see me wiping my arrow clean with some moss. "Katniss?"

"It's okay. I'm okay," I say, even though I don't feel okay at all. "I thought I heard my sister but—" The piercing shriek cuts me off. It's another voice, not Prim's, maybe a young woman's. I don't recognize it. But the effect on Finnick is instantaneous. The color vanishes from his face and I can actually see his pupils dilate in fear. "Finnick, wait!" I say, reaching out to reassure him, but he's bolted away. Gone off in pursuit of the victim, as mindlessly as I pursued Prim. "Finnick!" I call, but I know he won't turn around and wait for me to give a rational explanation. So all I can do is follow him.

It's no effort to track him, even though he's moving so fast, since he leaves a clear, trampled path in his wake. But the bird is at least a quarter mile away, most of it uphill, and by the time I reach him, I'm winded. He's circling around a giant tree. The trunk must be four feet in diameter and the limbs don't start until twenty feet up. The woman's shriek emanate from somewhere in the foliage, but the jabberjay is concealed. Finnick is screaming as well, over and over again. "Annie! Annie!" He's in a state of panic, and completely unreachable, so I do what I would do anyway. I scale an adjacent tree, locate the jabberjay, and take it out with an arrow. It falls straight down, landing at Finnick's feet. He picks it up, slowly making the connection, but when I slide down to join him, he looks more despairing than ever.

"It's all right, Finnick. It's just a jabberjay. They're playing a trick on us," I say. "It's not real. It's not your… Annie."

"No, it's not Annie. But that was her voice. Jabberjays can mimic what they hear. Where do you think those screams Katniss?" Finnick says.

I can feel my own cheeks grow pale as I understand his meaning. "Oh, Finnick you don't think they…"

"Yes I do. That's exactly what I think," he says.

I have an image of Prim in a white room, strapped to a table, while masked robe figures elicit those sounds form her. Somewhere they're torturing her, or did torture her, to get those sound. My knees turn to water, and I sink to the ground. Finnick is trying to tell me something, but I can't hear him. What I do finally hear is another bird starting up somewhere off to my left. And this time, the voice is Gale's.

Finnick catches my arm before I can run. "No. It's not him." He starts pulling me downhill, towards the beach. "We're getting out of here!" But Gale's voice is so full of pain I can't help struggling to reach it. "It's not him, Katniss! It's a mutt!" Finnick shouts at me. "Come on!" He moves me along, half dragging, half carrying, until I process what he said. He's right, it's another jabberjay. I can't help Gale by chasing it down. But that doesn't change the fact that it's Gale's voice, and somewhere, sometime, someone has made him sound like this.

I stop fighting Finnick, and like the night in the fog, I flee what I can't fight. What can only do me harm. Only this time it's my heart not my body that is disintegrating. This must be another weapon of the clock. Four o'clock, I guess. When the hands tick-tock onto four, the monkeys go home and the jabberjays come out to play. Finnick is right, getting out of here is the only thing to do. Although there will be nothing that Haymitch can send to help us recover from the wounds that the birds have inflicted.

I catch sight of Peeta and Johanna standing at the tree line and I'm filled with a mix of anger and relief. Why didn't Peeta come to help me? Why did no one come after us? Even now he hangs back, his hands raised, palms towards us, lips moving but no words reaching. Why?

The wall is transparent, Finnick and I run smack into it and bounce back onto the jungle floor. I'm lucky. My shoulder took the worst of the impact, whereas Finnick ran face first and now his nose is gushing blood. This is why Peeta, Johanna, and even Beetee, who I see sadly shaking his head behind them, have not come to our aid. An invisible barrier blocks the area in front of us. It's not a force field. You can touch the smooth, hard surface all you like. But Peeta's knife, and Johanna's ax can't make a dent in it. I know without checking more than a few feet to one side, that it encloses the entire four-to-five-o'clock wedge. That we will be trapped like rats until the hour passes.

Peeta presses his hands against the surface and I put my own up to meet it, as if I can feel them through the wall. I see his lips moving but I can't hear him, or anything outside our wedge. I try to make out what he's saying, but I can't focus, so I just stare at his face, doing my best to hang on to my sanity.

The birds begin to arrive. One by one. Perching in the surrounding branches. And a carefully orchestrated chorus of horror begins to spill out of their mouth. Finnick gives up at once, hunching on the ground, clenching his hand over his ears as if he's trying to crush his skull. I try to fight for a while. Emptying my quiver of arrows into the hated birds. But every time one drops dead, another quickly takes its place. And I finally give up and curl up beside Finnick, trying to block out the excruciating sounds of Prim, Gale, my mom, Madge, Vick, Rory, even Posy, helpless little Posy…

I know it's stopped when I feel Peeta's hands on me, fell myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins.

"It's all right, Katniss," he whispers.

"You didn't hear them," I answered.

"I heard Prim, right in the beginning. But it wasn't her," he says. "It was a jabberjay."

"It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded."

"No, that's what they want you to think. The same way I wondered if Glimmer's eyes were in that mutt last year. They weren't Glimmer's eyes. And that wasn't Prim's voice. Or if it was, they took it from an interview and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying," he says.

"No, they were torturing her," I answer. "She's probably dead."

"Katniss, Prim isn't dead. How could they kill Prim? We're almost down to the final eight. And what happens then?" Peeta says.

"Seven more of us die," I say hopelessly.

"No back home. What happens when the make it to the final eight tributes in the Games?" He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. Forces me to make eye contact. "What happens? At the final eight?"

I know he's trying to help me, so I make myself think. "At the final eight? They interview your family and friends back home."

"That's right," says Peeta "They interview you friends and family. And they can't do that if they killed them all?"

"No." I say, still unsure.

"No. That's how we know that Prim's alive. She'll be the first one they interview, won't she?" he asks.

I want to believe him. Badly. It just… those voices…

"First Prim. Then your mom. Your cousin, Gale. Madge," he continues. "It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we're are the only ones who can be hurt by it. We're the only ones playing the Game. Not them."

"You really believe that?" I say.

"I really do," says Peeta. I waver, thinking how Peeta can make anyone believe anything. I look over at Finnick for confirmation, to see him fixated on Peeta, his words.

"Do you believe it, Finnick?" I ask.

"It could be true. I don't know," he says. "Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone's regular voice, and make it…"

"Oh, yes. It's not even difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school," says Beetee.

"Of course Peeta's right. The whole country adores Katniss's little sister. If they really killed her like this, they'd probably have an uprising on their hands," Johanna says flatly. "Don't want that do they." She throws her head back and shouts, "Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn't want anything like that!"

My mouth drops back in shock. No one, ever, says anything like this in the Games. Absolutely, they've cut away from Johanna, and edited her out. But I've heard her, and can't think about her again in the same way. She'll never win awards for kindness, but she certainly is gutsy. Or crazy. She picks up some shells and heads towards the jungle. "I'm getting water," she says.

I can't help catching her hand as she passes. "The birds. Don't go in there—" I remember the birds must be gone, but I don't want anybody in there.

"They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no that I love left," Johanna says, and frees her hand with an impatient shake. When she brings me back a shell off water, I take it with a silent nod of thanks, knowing that she would despise the pity in my voice.

While Johanna collects water and my arrows, Beetee fiddles with his wire, and Finnick takes to the water. I need to clean up, too, but I stay in Peeta's arms, still to shaken to move.

"Who did they use against Finnick?" he asks.

"Somebody named Annie." I said.

"Must be Annie Cresta," he says.

"Who?" I ask.

"Annie Cresta. She was the girl that Mags volunteered for. She won about five years ago," says Peeta.

That would be the summer after my father died, when I first began feeding my family, when my whole being was occupied with battling starvation. "I don't remember those Games much," I say. "Was that the earthquake year?"

"Yeah. Annie's the one who went mad when her district partner was beheaded. Ran off by herself and hid. But an earthquake broke a dam and most of the arena got flooded. She won because she was the best swimmer," says Peeta.

"Did she get better after?" I ask. "I mean, her mind?"

"I don't know. I don't remember seeing her at the Games again. But she didn't look to stable during the reaping this year," says Peeta.

 _So that's who Finnick loves,_ I think. _Not a string of fancy lovers in the Capitol. But a poor, mad girl back home._

A cannon blast brings us all back together on the beach. A hovercraft appears in what we estimate to be the six-to-seven-o'clock. We watch the as the claw dips down five different times to retrieve the pieces of one body, torn apart. It's impossible to tell who it was. Whatever happens at six o'clock, I never want to know.

Peeta draws a new map on a leaf, adding a _JJ_ for jabberjay in four-to-five-o'clock section and simply writing _beast_ in one where we saw the tribute collected in pieces. We now have a good idea of what seven of the hours will bring. And if there's anything positive to the jabberjay attack, it's that it lets us know that where we are on the clock face again.

Finnick weaves yet another water basket and a net for fishing. I take a quick a swim and put more ointment on my skin. Then I sit at the edge of the water, clean the fish that Finnick catches and watching the sun drop below the horizon. The bright moon is already on the rise, filling the arena with a strange twilight. We're about to settle down to our meal of raw fish when the anthem begins. And then the faces…

Cashmere. Gloss. Wiress. Mags. The woman from District 5. The morphling that gave her life for Peeta. Blight. The man from District 10.

Eight dead. Plus eight from the first night. Two-thirds of us gone in a day and a half. That must be some kind of record.

"They're really burning through us," says Johanna.

"Who's left? Beside the five of us and District Two?" asks Finnick.

"Chaff," says Peeta, without thinking about it. Perhaps he's been keeping an eye out for him because of Haymitch.

A parachute comes down with a pile of bite-sized square-shaped rolls. "These are from District Three, right, Beetee?" Peeta says.

Yes, from District Three," he says. "How many are there?"

Finnick counts them, turning each over in his hands before he sets it down in a neat configuration. I don't know what it is with Finnick and bread, but he seems to be obsessed with handling it. "Twenty-four," he says.

"An even two dozen, then?" says Beetee.

"Twenty-four on the nose," says Finnick. "How should we divide them?"

"Let's have three each, and whoever is still alive at breakfast can vote on the rest," Johanna says. I don't know why this makes me laugh a little. I guess because it's true. When I do, Johanna gives me a look that is slightly approving. No, not approval. But maybe slightly pleased.

We wait until the giant wave has flooded out of the ten-to-eleven-o'clock section, wait for the water to recede, and then go to that beach and make camp. Theoretically, we should have a full twelve hours of safety from the jungle. There's an unpleasant chorus of clicking coming from the jungle, probably from evil type of insect, coming from the eleven-to-twelve-o'clock wedge. But whatever makes that sound is staying within the confines of the jungle and we keep off that part of the beach in case they are waiting for careless placed footfall to swarm out.

I don't know how Johanna is still on her feet. She's only had about an hour of sleep since the Games started. Peeta and I volunteer for first watch because we're better rested, and because we want some alone time. The others go out almost immediately, although Finnick's sleep is restless. Every now and then I hear him murmuring Annie's name.

Peeta and I sit on the damp sand, facing away from the each other, my right shoulder and hip pressed against his. I watch the water as he watches the jungle, which is better for me. I'm still haunted by the voices of the jabberjays, and there's nothing the insects can do to drown it out. After a while I rest my head against his shoulder. Feel his hand caress my hair.

"Katniss," he says softly, "it's not use pretending we don't know what the other is trying to do." No I guess there isn't, but it's no fun discussing it, either. Well, not for us anyway. The Capitol viewers will be glued to their sets so they don't miss a single wretched word.

"I don't know what kind of deal that you think you made with Haymitch, but you should know that he made me promises as well." Of course I know this, too. He told Peeta that he would keep me alive so that he wouldn't be suspicious. "So, I think we can assume he was lying to one of us." 

This gets my attention. A double deal. A double promise. With only Haymitch knowing which one is real. I raise my head to meet Peeta's eye. "Why are you saying this know?"

"Because I don't want you to forget how different our circumstances are. If you die, and I live, there's no life for me at all back in District Twelve. You're my whole life," he says. "I would never be happy again." I start to object but he puts a finger to my lips. "It's different for you. I'm not saying it would be hard. But there are people who would make your life worth living."

Peeta pulls a chain with a gold disc from around his neck. He holds it in the moonlight so I can clearly see the mockingjay. Then his thumb slides along a catch that I didn't see before and the disc pops open. It's not as solid, as I thought, it's a locket. And within the locket is a picture. Of my family. My mom was is smiling, and Prim was is laughing.

I start to get angry with Peeta. He just gave me a picture of my family, but not even a photo of a possible suitor that would me help move past his death. At least he spared me by not putting Gale in here. Peeta has probably come to the conclusion that the girl who needed Gale is gone, and in her place is a women that needs something more. What that is, I have no idea.

There is nothing in the world that can break me faster at this moment than these two faces. After what I heard this afternoon… it's the perfect weapon.

"Your family needs you, Katniss," Peeta says.

 _My family needs me. What happens when my mom dies? Then what? What happens when Prim comes of age, gets married, and moves in with her husband? What happens then? There are a lot of men that could meet my material needs, but what of about emotional needs? My psychological needs? I've been through so much in the past five years, I don't know if anyone will be able to measure up like Peeta was able to._ I think.

As that thought passes through my mind, something strikes me as odd. Peeta failed to mention the baby, for the cameras, and I have the feeling he isn't going to. And that's how I know that none of this is part of the Games. That he is telling the truth about what he feels. I can feel the ground begin to fall out from under me, again, and I'm scrambling to find my sanity.

"What about you?" I ask.

"Nobody needs me," he says, and there's no self-pity in his voice. It's true his family doesn't need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. The only person who will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.

"I do." I said. "I need you." He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if he's about to begin a long argument, but stops. He stares just at me, and I don't wait for him to continue down the path he was on at first, so I lean in and kiss him.

I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt one other time. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand time before, during, and after those Games. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. But my head wound started bleeding and he had me lie down.

This time, there is nothing to interrupt us. After a few seconds, Peeta pulls me closer to him, holding me like he has done thousand times before. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this was entirely new kind.

It's the first crack of the lightning storm—the bolt hitting the tree at midnight—that brings us to our senses. It rouses Finnick as well. He sits up with a sharp cry. I see his fingers digging into the sand as he reassures himself that whatever nightmare he inhabited wasn't real.

"I can't sleep anymore," he says. "One of you should rest." Only then does he seem to notice our expressions, the way we're wrapped around each other. "Or both of you. I can watch alone."

But Peeta won't let him, though. "It's too dangerous," he says. "I'm not tired. You lie down, Katniss." I don't object because I do need sleep if I'm going to be of any use keeping him alive. I let him lead me over to where the other are. He puts the chain with the locket around my neck, then rests his hand over the spot where our baby would be. "You're going to make a great mother, you know," he says. He kisses me one last time and goes back to Finnick.

His reference to the baby signals that our time-out from the Games is over. That he knows the audience will be wondering why he didn't use the most persuasive argument in his arsenal. That the sponsors must be manipulated.

But as I stretch out on the sand I wonder, could it be more? Like a reminder to me that I could still have kids one day with some other man. Well, if that was it, it was a mistake. Because for one thing, that's never been a part of my plan. And for another, if only one of us can be a parent, anyone can see its Peeta.

As I drift off, I try to imagine that world, somewhere in the future, with no Games, no Capitol. A place like the meadow in the song I sang to Rue as she died. Where Peeta's child could be safe.


	52. Chapter 52

When I wake, I have a brief, delicious feeling of happiness that is somehow connect with Peeta. Happiness, of course, is a complete absurdity at this point, since at the rate things are going, I'll be dead in day. And that's the best case scenario, if I'm able to eliminate the rest of the field, including myself, and Peeta gets crowned victor of the Quarter Quell. Still, the sensations is so sweet I cling to it, if only for a few moments. Before the gritty sand, the hot sun, and my itching skin demand my return to reality.

Everyone's already up and watching the descent of the parachute to the beach. I join them for another deliver of bread. It's identical to the one we received last night. Twenty-four rolls from District 3. That gives us thirty-three in all. We each take five, leaving eight in reserve. No one says it, but eight will divide up perfectly after the next death. Somehow, in the light of day, joking about who will be around to eat the rolls has lost its humor.

How long can we keep this alliance? I don't think anyone expected the number of tributes to drop so quickly. What if I am wrong about the others protecting Peeta? If things were simply coincidental, or it's been a strategy to win our trust to make us east prey, or I don't understand what's actually going on here? Wait, there is no ifs about that. I don't have a clue what's going on here. And if I don't, it's time for Peeta and me to clear out.

I sit next to Peeta on the sand to eat my rolls. For some reason, I find it difficult to look at him. I'm sure it has nothing to do with all the kissing we did last night, I've gotten use to kissing him for both the Capitol and myself. I'm not sure if it felt any different for him. It could quite possible be the fact that our time together is growing short, and we're working at such cross-purposes on who should survive these Games.

After we eat, I take his hand and tug him toward the water. "Come on, I'll teach you how to swim." I need to get him away from the others where we can discuss breaking away. It will be tricky, because when they realize that we're breaking the alliance, we will be instant targets.

If I was really teaching him how to swim, I would have made him take of his belt since it keeps him afloat, but what does it matter now? So I just teach him the basic stroke and let him practice in waist-high water. At first, I see Johanna keeping a close eye on us, but she eventually loses interest and goes to look at the map. Finnick is weaving a new net out of vines and Beetee is plays with his wire. I know the time has come.

While Peeta has been swimming, I discovered something. My remaining scabs have begun to peel off. By gently rubbing a handful of sand up and down my arm, I clean off the rest of the scales, revealing fresh new skin underneath. I stop Peeta's practice on the pretext of showing him how to rid himself of the itchy scabs, and as we scrub ourselves I bring up our escape.

"The pool is down to eight. I think it's time we took off," I say under my breath, although I doubt the other victors can hear me.

Peeta nods, and I can see him considering our position. Weighing if the odds would be in our favor. "Tell you what," he says. "Let's stick around until Brutus and Enobaria are dead. I think Beetee is trying to put together some kind of trap for them now. Then, I promise, we'll go."

I'm not entirely convinced. But if we leave now, we'll have two groups of adversaries to contend with. Maybe three, who knows what Chaff is up to? Plus the clock to contend with. And then there's Beetee to think of. Johanna only brought him for me, and if we leave she will surely kill him. Then I remember. I can't protect Beetee, too. There can only be one victor and it has to be Peeta. I must accept this. I must make decisions based on his survival.

"All right," I say. "We stay until the careers are dead. But that's the end of if it." I turn to wave to Finnick. "Hey, Finnick, come on in! We figured out a way to make you pretty again!"

The three of us scour all the scabs from our bodies, helping the others' backs, and come out as the same pink as the sky. We apply another round of medicine because the skin seems too delicate for sunlight, but it doesn't look half as bad on smooth skin and will be good camouflage in the jungle.

Beetee calls us over, and it turns out during all those hours fiddling with the wire, he has indeed come up with a plan. "I think we all agree that our next job is killing Brutus and Enobaria," he says mildly. "I doubt they'll attack us out in the open again, now they're so outnumbered. We could track them down, and kill them, I suppose, but that's dangerous and exhausting work."

"Do you think they've figure out about the clock?" I ask.

"If they haven't, they'll figure it soon enough. Perhaps not as specific as we have. But they must know that some zones are wired for attack and that they're reoccurring in a circular fashion. Also, the fact that our last fight was cut off by Gamemaker intervention will not go unnoticed by them. We know it was an attempt to disorient us, but they must be asking themselves why it was done, and this, too, may lead them to the realization that the arena's a clock," says Beetee. "So I think our best bet is to set our own trap."

"Wait, let me get Johanna up for this," says Finnick. "She'll be rabid if she missed something this important."

"Or not," I mutter, since she's always pretty much rabid, but I don't stop him because I'd be angry myself if I was exclude from a plan at this point.

When she joins us, Beetee shoos all back a bit so he has room to work in the sand. He swiftly draws a circle and divides it into twelve wedges. It's the arena, not rendered in Peeta's precious strokes but in rough lines of a man whose mind is occupied by other, far more complex things. "If you were Brutus and Enobaria, knowing what you know about the jungle, where would you feel safest?" Beetee asks. There is nothing patronizing in his voice, and yet I can't help thinking he reminds me of a school teacher about to ease his children into a lesson. Perhaps it's an age difference, or simply that Beetee is probably a million times smarter than the rest of us.

"Where we are now. On the beach," says Peeta. "It's the safest place."

"So why aren't they on the beach?" Beetee asks.

"Because we're here," says Johanna impatiently.

"Exactly. We're here, claiming the beach. Now where would you go?" says Beetee.

I think about the deadly jungle, the occupied beach. "I'd hide at the edge of the jungle. So I could escape if an attack came. And so I could spy on us."

"Also to eat," Finnick says. "The jungle's full of strange creatures and plants. But by watching us, I'd know that the seafood's safe."

Beetee smiles at us as if we exceed his expectation. "Yes, good. You do see. Now here's what I propose: a twelve o'clock strike. What happens at exactly noon and midnight?"

"The lightning bolt hits the tree." I said.

"Yes. So what I'm suggestion is after the bolt hits at noon, but before it hits at midnight, we run my wire from the tree all the way down to the saltwater, which is, of course, highly conductive. When the bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the wire and into not only the wire but the water surrounding the beach, which will still be damp from the ten o'clock wave. Anyone in contact with those surfaces will be electrocuted," says Beetee.

There was a long pause will we digest Beetee's plan. It seems a bit fantastical to me, impossible even. But why? I've set thousands of snares. Isn't this just a larger snare with a more scientific component? Could it work? How can we even question it, we tributes trained to gather fish and lumber and coal? What do we know about harvesting the power of the sky?

Peeta takes a stab at it. "Will the wire really be able to conduct that much power, Beetee? It looks so fragile, like it would just burn up."

"Oh, it will. But not until the current has passed through it. It will act something like a fuse, in fact. Except the electricity will travel along it," says Beetee.

"How do you know?" Johanna asks, clearly not convinced.

"Because I invented it," says Beetee, as if slightly surprised. "It's not wire in usual sense. Nor is that lightning natural lightning nor the tree a real tree. You know trees better than any of us, Johanna. That tree would be destroyed by now, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," she say glumly.

"Don't worry about the wire—it will do just what I say," Beetee assures us.

"And where will we be when this happens?" Finnick asks.

"Far enough up in the jungle to be safe," Beetee replies.

"The Careers will be safe, too, unless they are in the vicinity of the water," I point out too.

"That's right," Beetee says.

"But all the seafood will be cooked," says Peeta.

"Probably more than cooked," says Beetee. "We will most likely be eliminating that as a source of food for good. But you found other edible things in the jungle, right, Katniss?"

"Yes. Nuts and rats," I say.

"Well, then. I don't see that as a problem," says Beetee. "But as allies this will require all of our efforts, the decision whether or not to attempt it is up to the four of you."

We _are_ like school children. Completely unable to dispute his theory with anything but the elementary concerns. Most of which don't even have anything to do with his actual plan. I look at the others' disconcerted faces. "Why not?" I say. "If it fails, there's no harm done. If it works, there's a decent chance we'll kill them. And even if we don't and just kill the seafood, Brutus and Enobaria lose that as a source of food, too."

"I say we try it, too," says Peeta." Katniss is right."

Finnick looks at Johanna and raises his eyebrows. He will not go forward without her. "All right," she says finally. "It's better than hunting them down in the jungle, anyway. And I doubt they'll figure out the plan because we can barely understand it ourselves."

Beetee wants to inspect the lightning tree before he has to rig it. Judging by the sun, it's about nine in the morning. We have to leave our beach soon, anyway. So we break camp, walk over to the beach that borders the lightning section, and head into the jungle. Beetee's still too weak to hike up the slope on his own, so Finnick and Peeta take turns carrying him. I let Johanna lead because it's a pretty straight shot up to the tree, and I figure she can't get us too lost. Besides, I can do a lot more damage with my quiver of arrows than she can with two axes, so I'm the best one to bring up the rear.

The dense, muggy air weighs on me. There's been no break from it since the Games started. I wish Haymitch would stop sending that District 3 bread and get us more of that District 4 stuff, because I sweated out buckets in the last two days, and even though I had the fish, I'm craving salt. A piece of ice would be another good idea. Or a cold drink of water. I'm grateful for the fluid from the trees, but it's the same temperature as the seawater and the air and the other tributes and me. We're all just one big, warm stew.

As we near the tree, Finnick suggest that I take the lead.

"Katniss can hear the force fields," he explains to Beetee, and Johanna.

"Hear it?" Beetee asks.

"With the ear that the Capitol reconstructed," I say. Guess who I'm not fooling with that story? Beetee. Because surely he remembers that he showed me how to spot a force field, and it's probably impossible to hear a force field anyway. But, for whatever reason, he doesn't question my claim.

"Then by all means, let Katniss go first," he says, pausing a moment to wipe the stream off his glasses. "Force fields are nothing to play around with."

The lightning tree is unmistakable as it towers so high above the others. I find a bunch of nuts and make everybody wait while I move slowly up the slope, tossing the nuts ahead of me. But I see the force field almost immediately, even before the nut hits it, because it's only fifteen yards away. My eyes, which are sweeping the greenery before me, catch sight of the rippled square high and up to my right. I throw a nut directly in front of me and hear it sizzle in confirmation.

"Just stay below the lightning tree," I tell the others.

We divide up duties. Finnick guards Beetee will he examines the tree, Johanna taps for water, Peeta gathers nuts, and I hunt nearby. The tree rats don't seem to have any fear of humans, so I take three down easily. The sound of the ten o'clock wave reminds me I should get back, and I return to the others and clean my kill. Then I draw a line in the dirt a few feet from the force field as a reminder to keep back, and Peeta and I settle down to roast nuts and sear cubes of rat.

Beetee is still messing around with the tree, doing I don't know what, taking measurements and such. At one point he snaps off a sliver of bark, joins us, and throws it against the force field. It bounces back and lands on the ground, glowing. In a few moments it returns to its original color. "Well, that explains a lot," says Beetee. I look at Peeta and can't help biting my lip to keep myself from laughing since it explains absolutely nothing to anybody except Beetee.

About this time we hear the sounds of clicking rising the sector adjacent to us. That means it's eleven o'clock. It's far louder in the jungle than it was on the beach last night. We listen intently.

"It's not mechanical," says Beetee decidedly.

"I'd guess insects," I say. "Maybe beetles."

"Something with pincers," adds Finnick.

The sound swells, as if alerted by our quiet words to the proximity of living flesh. Whatever is making that clicking noise, I bet it could strip us to the bone in seconds.

"We should get out of here anyway," says Johanna. "There's less than an hour until the lightning starts."

We don't go that far though. Only to the identical tree in the blood-rain section. We have a picnic of sorts, squatting on the ground, eating our jungle food, waiting for the bolt that signals noon. At Beetee request, I climb up into the canopy as the clicking begins to fade out. When the lightning strikes, it's dazzling, even from here, even in the bright sunlight. It completely encompasses the distant tree, making it glow a hot blue-white and causing the surrounding air to be charged with electricity. I swing down to report my findings to Beetee, who seems satisfied even if I'm not too terribly scientific.

We take a circuitous route back to the ten o'clock beach. The sand is smooth and damp, swept clean by the wave. Beetee essentially gives us the afternoon off while he works on the wire. Since it's his weapon and the rest of us have to defer knowledge so entirely, there's the odd feeling of being let out of school early. At first we take turns having naps in the shadowy edge of the jungle, but by late afternoon, everybody is awake and restless. We decide, since this to might be our last chance for seafood, to make a sort of feast of it. Under Finnick's guidance we spear fish and catch shellfish, even dive for oysters. I like the last part the best, not because I have an appetite for oysters. I've only had them once, in the Capitol, and I couldn't get out around the sliminess. But it's lovely, deep down under the water, like being in a different world. The water's very clear, and the schools of bright-hued fish and strange sea flowers decorate the sand floor.

Johanna keeps watch while Finnick, Peeta, and I clean and layout the seafood. Peeta just pried open an oyster when I hear him give a laugh. "Hey, look at this!" He holds up a perfect, glistening pearl about the size of a pea. Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. "For you." I hold it out in my palm, and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Maybe it will give me strength in my final moments.

"Thanks," I say closing my fist around it. Peeta just nods.

Just as we're sitting down to eat, a parachute appears bearing two supplements to our meal. A pot of spicy red sauce and yet another round of rolls from District 3. Finnick, of course, immediately counts them. "Twenty-four again," he says.

Thirty-two rolls, then. So we each take five, leaving seven, which will never divide equally. It's bread for only one.

The salty fish flesh, the succulent shellfish. Even the oysters seem tasty, vastly improved by the sauce. We gorge ourselves until no one can hold another bite, and even then we have left overs. They won't keep, though, so we toss the remaining food into the water so the Careers won't get it when we leave. No one bothers about the shells. The waves should clear those away.

There is nothing to do but wait. Peeta and I sit at the edge of the water, hand in hand, wordless. We said the words that were on our hearts, so there is nothing else to say.

I have the pearl, though, secure in a parachute with the spile and medicine at my waist. I hope it makes it back to District 12.

Surely, my mom and Prim will know to return it to Peeta before they bury my body.


End file.
